


Voldemort's very successful guide to reuniting a family.

by saltygay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Bipolar Harry Potter, Bisexual Harry Potter, Black Hermione Granger, Canonical Child Abuse, Desi Harry Potter, Elemental Magic, Harry Potter is a Little Shit, Harry Potter is a chaos entity, Harry Potter is the Heir to the House of Black, Heir of Slytherin Harry Potter, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Master of Death Harry Potter, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Multi, Parent Voldemort (Harry Potter), Parent-Child Relationship, Parselmouth Harry Potter, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vietnamese Tom Riddle, Voldemort is Harry Potter's Parent, but no ones ever gonna spend the time to diagnose and help this boy, in case u didnt know this is a theme in my work uwu, modern time period because i want a golden trio group chat fuck u, otherwise known as Harry Potter and the swim in the river of denial
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29480088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltygay/pseuds/saltygay
Summary: Sirius Black gets the excellent idea to take Harry to Gringotts and blood adopt him to cheer him up after his fourth year at Hogwarts and the rebirth of the Dark Lord.It's safe to say, Harry is straight up not having a good time.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Original Female Character(s), Harry Potter & Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Remus Lupin & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Tom Riddle | Voldemort/Original Female Character(s), Voldemort/getting clowned by his entire fam
Comments: 40
Kudos: 285





	1. Harry is having a very bad, no good, day.

**Author's Note:**

> So! This is the other thing I said I was playing around with on Carry my fears! I'm really not trying to hide who the dad issue here, I find it really funny to just keep having Harry ignore something staring him in the face. It gives me serotonin to have a fic where I am mainly clowning on my own characters.
> 
> A fair warning here. This fic does not have a set end point. I might figure out a clear end eventually but honestly? This is an exercise in getting to write some dynamics I love as well as enjoying my favourite wild trope. I've got a lotta chapters drafted and plans through fifth year but this is my AU that I'm sharing for serotonin and to keep my brain working when I fall behind on Carry My Fears.
> 
> This time I own one thing and that is icon and queen Alya Black.

One top secret and meticulously planned scheme later, Remus helps sneak Harry to London to meet Sirius outside Gringotts. What no one had the heart to tell Sirius is that everyone but Dumbledore and Snape were in on the scheme following days of begging on Remus’ behalf because both Harry and Sirius needed the fresh air and be around family.

Harry especially, after what had happened in the tournament.

Not that any of them actually knew, Harry could barely get a whole sentence out to explain what he had seen and experienced. His shaking had been the only thing that clued in Pomfrey to the liberal crucio Voldemort had held him under. The witch had fretted so much over the fact Harry could barely speak.

The Dursleys, unsurprisingly, didn’t care at all that Harry was still in shock and definitely didn’t care that he’d rocked up from school littered with cuts and bruises. Petunia had simply frowned and tutted over what the neighbours would think if they saw him gardening like that.

The plan goes into action two weeks before his birthday where Harry walks into the bank with his pet dog Snuffles and Remus waits on one of the rather uncomfortable benches insisting this was private.

The goblins aren’t all that amused with them. One look at the shaggy grim otherwise known as Sirius and the goblins quickly find a private room to put them in. “You’ll both need to complete a blood test to prove you are who you say you are. Once that’s done we can move on with the heirship and discuss the blood adoption.” The goblin, Ironclaw, informs them.

Harry considers just gesturing to his scar but he’s far too busy staring at Sirius.

“Surprise, pup! None of it’s if you don’t want it – the heirship will make sure if anything happens to me then none of that side of the family can use the Black name for you-know-who. And the blood adoption…” Sirius grins, just as cocky as usual, but Harry sees the vulnerable edge.

It was the same way he smiled when he thought Harry wouldn’t want to stay with him. “Yes,” he says before his godfather can try to explain. Why would he ever say no? “I – yes.” Sirius reaches over to squeeze his hand, maybe understanding what Harry can’t quite put into words.

Ironclaw coughs impatiently. Sirius rolls his eyes, making sure to exaggerate for Harry’s sake, before taking a dagger from the table and pricking his finger. The drop of blood soaks into offered parchment and the goblin draws it back across the table to inspect it. “Very good, Lord Black. Would you care to take a look, or can we move on?” Ironclaw nods but Sirius waves him off.

Harry freezes for a moment with the dagger in his hand. He looks at the blade and thinks of Pettigrew slicing his arm open in the graveyard and he thinks of Cedric’s body and watching something inhuman rise out of magic itself. Then he forces himself to prick his finger and follow Sirius’s lead.

Unlike with Sirius, Ironclaw frowns at the parchment. “You will need to do a full test, Mr Potter, while I fetch the Potter accountant.” Ironclaw slides forward a new piece of parchment and Harry squeezes his finger to get the necessary amount of blood out.

The goblin takes the parchment with him when he leaves.

“It’ll be nothing to worry about, pup, probably just some title business.” Sirius assures him but Harry has a feeling, like his skin is trying to crawl away from his body, and it tells him nothing is going to be okay.

After all, nothing in his life went his way.

Ironclaw returns with two more goblins and Harry knows, by the quickly hidden surprise on Sirius’s face, that this is not normal either.

“It seems that, by some mistake, the Potter will was sealed by the minister and chief warlock which has lead to our current problem.” One of the new goblins says and Harry assumes he’s in charge of the Potter account.

Harry exchanges an uneasy look with his godfather.

“I suggest you read over the results of the blood test first, Mr Potter.” Ironclaw slides the result across the desk. Harry feels his heart jump into his throat.

> _Name: Hydrus Marvolo Black. (Birth.)  
>  Harry James Potter. (Adopted.)_

The words sit there so innocuously, like they don’t turn his world upside down five times over, and Harry keeps staring even when Sirius lightly shakes him. Then he’s not staring, because he’s laughing. It sounds hysterical even to his own ears. Sirius snatches up the parchment and Harry keeps laughing because he doesn’t know what else to do. “This is a joke, right?” He asks with a voice turned rough from the lump in his throat. “I’ve got plenty of proof of my parents on my face.”

Maybe he was a little too harsh there because the goblins eye him warily.

“Pup,” Sirius says gently but he puts the parchment down on the desk like he’s nailing the final hammer in this coffin. Harry looks at him rather like he has grown a second head in the time it took him to read because surely Sirius wouldn’t believe this. “Read it through…just read it.”

Grudgingly, Harry takes it up again to read.

It’s hard to take it seriously when not even his birthday shows the same, landing slap bang in the middle of August instead. Slowly he looks down to the parental section and grits his teeth so hard he wonders if there are spells for this.

> _Mother: Alya Dorea Black. (Birth.)  
>  Lily Evans Potter. (Adopted, Deceased.)_
> 
> _Father: Unnamed. (Birth.)  
>  James Fleamont Potter. (Adopted, Deceased.)_

Harry, still on the edge of hysterical, grips the parchment so hard the edges crinkle. “I didn’t know you could refuse to be named.” He comments like it is at all important compared to everything else.

“It’s extremely rare these days, but a mother can refuse to name a father. The father can later come forward and name himself so long as he’s been magically recognised and there are blood spells available regardless. For obvious reasons, few witches employ the option now for the matter of heirships and status.” A goblin explains but Harry doesn’t pay attention to which.

The list of heirships and titles are so long he could laugh, including the conquest rights to the Slytherin one. Having the rights to the Slytherin heirship really feels like some act of divine intervention designed to give someone a right laugh at both his and Tom Riddle’s expense. But then his eyes finally land on what Sirius must have wanted him to see.

> _Active Spells:_
> 
> _Blood Glamour, tied to the Potter bloodline._  
>  _Magical block on elemental abilities. (Performed by Alya Black and Lily Potter.)_  
>  _Restriction on magical core. (Performed by Alya Black and Lily Potter.)_  
>  _Block on blood tracking rituals. (Performed by Alya Black.)_

Harry feels vaguely sick and only distantly hears Sirius mutter about how they never told him but slides the parchment back.

“If you would allow us, Lord Black, we could actually open the Potter’s will.” Ironclaw snaps, something that had probably been building since he found a fugitive animagus entering his bank, and Sirius shuts his mouth with an audible click.

No one protests so the goblin taps a rolled-up piece of parchment which readily snaps open.

_“I, Lord James Fleamont Potter, swear this has been made of my own free will.”_

Harry startles at the realisation this was his fathers voice absent of the ghostly quality in the graveyard. This was the voice of James Potter in life, coloured with amusement and just as well spoken as Malfoy of all people.

_“I, Lady Lily Evans Potter, swear this has been made of my own free will.”_

Follows quickly after and Sirius looks far paler than usual. Harry supposes if he heard Cedric’s voice tomorrow, he might get shaken up too.

“In terms of possessions, we leave the marauders flat in London to Remus Lupin. This includes the basement unit we purchased in the building which has been magically reinforced to hold even a dragon.” James Potter says and Sirius snorts, silver eyes incredibly bright with unshed tears, and Harry wishes he didn’t feel quite so detached so he could actually feel this.

“The couch is to go to Sirius Black and I can only hope he comes to his senses and burns the monstrosity.” Lily Potter adds sternly and Sirius bites back what might be a sob or a laugh or maybe even both. “In the event of our death, a fund should be set up to donate to Hogwarts a total of 22,000 galleons every year. I formally request Minerva McGonagall take charge of how the fund is spent but hope that some is put towards helping students with their school supplies. All of my potions journals and notes should be forced into the hands of Severus Snape under threat from my ghost should he refuse them.”

Harry, very confused over why his deceased mother wanted to leave anything to the dour professor and why she thought threatening him would even work, watches a goblin note it down.

“Finally, we leave all other assets to our son to do with as he chooses. If we haven’t had the chance to magically finalise the adoption then I formally leave the heirship of House Potter to Harry. Upon our death, we ask all active spells be removed.” James Potter picks up and Harry clutches the arm of his chair so tightly his muscles cramp. “Assuming we met death before we could share the truth with our friends, it should be known we happily took in our son and would do so again.”

Distantly, he recognises that Sirius covers his hand with his own larger one. “I suffered a miscarriage midway in my pregnancy and we weren’t able to share news of Charlus’s death before James’s mother, Dorea, asked a favour of us. Her cousin, Alya, had found herself pregnant but unable to continue her courtship while visiting the country and, for reasons she would not share, she feared the father finding out. Initially we planned on just looking after them until it was safe for her to return to India, however she asked us to formally take Harry in for his own safety. We agreed to her requests to hide the truth until the war was over and insisted on spells that would stop the father from finding him.” Lily Potter explains with a voice far too light to carry news that makes his stomach churn in dull horror.

“In the event of our death, our plan to choose a less obvious secret keeper failed and Peter has either betrayed us or been tortured into giving up our location. Harry should go to his godfather, Sirius Black, his godmother Alice and the Longbottoms, or our dear friend Remus Lupin. Should none of them be able to take him in, Alya would happily care for him. But under no circumstances should he live with my sister Petunia.”

The voices stop, will evidently read, and Harry finds himself doubled over with his elbows on his knees and face in his hands. “Sirius,” He begins though he doesn’t try to move. “Did I imagine it, or did it sound like…like my birth father was a death eater?” He whispers the question because he’s not actually sure he wants an answer. No, he definitely doesn’t want Sirius to agree with his fears and help him imagine a man who contributed to his DNA cheering on his death in the graveyard. Why else, he considers, would Alya Black have gone to such lengths to hide her son during the war.

Sirius rubs his back until Harry can stomach sitting up again.

The goblins look neither patient nor amused.

His godfather settles in his chair, readjusting it to better look at Harry. “It’s time for some family history, pup.” Sirius sighs and Harry looks at him blankly because if this is a distraction tactic a lesson wasn’t going to help much. “Alya is my little cousin, though really distant. Us Blacks have branches around the world, see, we sent the extra kids to different countries to set up deals. The Blacks in Britain may be few and far between, but we grow like weeds in the rest of the world. Dorea, James’s mother, was a Black and she was born outta a match the Patils set up with their business partners for Cygnus after he was widowed. And Dorea used her mother’s connections to set up one of her nephews with a partner of the Puthers, the cousins of the Potters, but she got smart and made sure that branch of the family remained in the South Asian Empire. His son broke the naming conventions to honour Dorea in Alya’s name – that happened when I was about two and the family talked about it for years – so Alya was really close with Dorea.”

Harry attempts to ask what any of this has to do with his question, but Sirius hushes him dramatically before carrying on. “Alya even owled with me and James and few times. She’s a fiery woman, absolutely terrifying, so she probably got on great with Lily. The only time she came here though…Dorea was getting on a bit and the war didn’t help so Alya insisted on coming to see her before it was too late. She stayed for a while, but I never realised she was courting anyone, I didn’t even realise she was staying with them while she was…but what you need to know, Harry, is that Alya and Dorea? They’re good Blacks. Asia’s less backwards with blood purity and magic so even if my mother, the right harpy that she was, tried to match Alya with a death eater, Alya doesn’t believe in any of that. She never would have agreed. I got a terrible letter from her, y’know, in Azkaban. She was spitting mad that she thought I was a death eater…she was probably worried about you, looking back on it, but Alya is so _good_ Harry.”

The family tree proves a little confusing and he wants to ask for a physical diagram to even try to understand but he nods anyway. “That doesn’t mean he isn’t.” Harry also wants to tear his own hair out because he wonders if many death eaters shared Voldemort’s middle name. He promptly shuts down that train of thought and places it in a box alongside the many sources of trauma in the wizarding world he refused to think about, sitting it right between Quirrell dying in front of him and spending most of third year in a state of depression because of dementors.

“If you’re done,” Ironclaw says pointedly, “We should remove these spells on Mr Potter. This is healer Vrikt, we’ve already removed the necessary galleons from your vault.”

The third goblin steps forward and Harry looks between goblin and Sirius in a panic. “Why? Why do I need them removed?” He blurts out and Ironclaw seems to have run out of any patience for the wixen taking up his time. 

“Your parents requested them removed because spells like these are dangerous, Mr Potter.” Vrikt explains with far more patience. “No one has maintained them for years and they’re surely poisoning you. But for five galleons we can copy the glamour to a ring. The magic will only last for one year however when you wear it, you will look as you do now.”

Harry eagerly agrees.

“Lord Black, you will need to wait here. While we wait you can always fetch Mr Lupin to go over your inheritance.” The Potter accountant says when Sirius tries to stand, and Harry isn’t sure how he feels at having to do this alone. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to face his own nightmare alone, but he really would have preferred the company.

Sirius grabs him in a tight hug that practically swallows him up. “It’s okay, pup. This doesn’t change who you are, yeah, you raise just as much hell as James ever did. You’re still their boy, you’re still my godson, this changes none of it.” Harry nods into Sirius’s chest even if he’s not completely sure he agrees but the goblins impatience causes it to end sooner than he’d like.

Harry follows Vrikt through an absolute labyrinth until he is led into a room completely empty apart from a bench and a plain looking door. “You will need to remove your clothes in here. Beyond that door is a waterfall charmed to remove all spells on anyone who enters.” Vrikt tells him and Harry hesitates before he starts to remove Dudley’s hand-me-downs.

If nothing else, a goblin wouldn’t care about the scars hidden by the too big clothes.

Beyond the door his skin tingles with the magic in the air, so much so that he almost feels drunk on it, but just like the goblin said the cavern holds a waterfall and small lake. Harry is slow to enter because his entire life will fall apart when he does.

The water is strangely lukewarm but even stranger is how it drags him under and keeps dragging him down and sets his skin aflame.

The world is dark and directionless, and he almost wonders if this might have all been an elaborate trick to kill him. Most things, in his experience, tried to kill him.

“I was wondering if I would ever see you.” A warm voice says behind him, or at least he thinks that’s behind, and Harry can suddenly find ground under his feet to turn.

A figure stands there with features that constantly change. “Who are you?” Harry asks and feels stupid for even needing to ask because Hermione would probably know.

The stranger chuckles at him. “A friend. That is all you need to know for now. The water can give a glimpse beyond, so I decided to take advantage of the opportunity.”

Harry doesn’t think they’re lying, but Harry has also been deceived by Tom Riddle and his followers for three of his four years in the wizarding world, so he’s not sure if he trusts his own instincts anymore.

“You shouldn’t be so apprehensive about this Hydrus,” The figure tuts and is suddenly so close that Harry almost stumbles back. The shock distracts him for only a few seconds before he actually processes the words and scowls. “My names Harry.”

The stranger looks at him like he’s a particularly interesting specimen to pull apart. “Is it? Out of habit, maybe, but who is Harry? Are you Harry Potter or is Harry Potter a creation of the wizarding world they all feel entitled to?”

For a minute Harry almost finds himself nodding but instead narrows his eyes at the being. “You’re looking inside my head!” He accuses because he’s spent so many nights thinking just that while wallowing in his own bitterness.

There is no shame on the stranger’s face, instead they smile wide at him with too many teeth. “Maybe. Or maybe I know you. Maybe I know you better than you know yourself. What you _see_ , Hydrus, is your world being torn apart. But you’re missing the opportunity this is. _Hydrus Black_ is whoever you want to be. _Hydrus Black_ doesn’t need to live with the Dursleys because there are no blood wards. And _Hydrus Black_ wouldn’t be recognised if he slipped out of Surrey.”

Harry bites his tongue because it’s true. The magical world barely even recognised him by scar most days because, around the time wizards started making money by creating false stories about him, some asshole had claimed his scar was more like a cartoon lightning bolt rather than the sharp thin branches of lightning that take up the left side of his face. No one would recognise him, not if they hadn’t met him yet, and maybe even not then.

“How do you know I’ll look all that different?” Harry counters instead because he is feeling a little spiteful and doesn’t want to agree with someone that won’t even use his name.

The stranger tilts their head. “Think about what I’ve said, Hydrus. I hope it’s some time until we speak again but I look forward to it.”

Bright light assaults his eyes when he opens them, but he prefers it to the white noise in his ears. The magic he had gotten so used to feels like it’s buzzing through him like a giant warm of bees. He feels sick with it and yet he feels better than he has in his entire life. His clothes sit next to him and he’s slow to put them on because his head feels too light.

Still his hands, he thinks, but his skin seems a little darker when he looks closely. The cuts and scars are the same, unchanged, though the clothes don’t feel quite as loose on him now, but he realises why when he finds a waiting mirror.

Harry is small because of the Dursley’s and years of cupboards and only eating scraps, but rather than being scrawny his build is lither now. Shoulders a little broader, natural muscle boosting what he earned through quidditch and manual labour around Privet Drive.

His hairs the same inky black most of the way though it lightens to a dark brown at the ends, it’s even still curly but it’s far from the untameable mess it had been that morning. The curls are closer to the waves of Sirius’s hair than the wild mess in photos of James Potter.

The real change is his face, so dramatic that he pokes himself just to make sure it’s really him. Harry’s really glad Ron wasn’t here to watch him hiss as he pokes himself in the cheek, but he’s also rather sure Ron might have joined in with the poking. His face is sharp with pronounced cheekbones and an even sharper jaw where his face had been rounder before. The same scar cuts down, but it doesn’t seem to take away from his face anymore, adding to the sharpness of his appearance, and he’s thankful he has the same broad nose Petunia hated so much. Harry realises, belatedly, that his glasses aren’t on his face and yet his eyesight is fine.

Had it been the spells? Was that what the goblins meant when they called them poisonous?

The slow realisation might have been because Harry doesn’t want to take in the change of his eyes. He starts slow in taking in the change there, knowing if he rushes in he might be sick, so he takes in how they’re narrower now and angular in a way he assumes must have come from his birth father because he’s reminded of Cho and the Greengrass’s. Definitely the Greengrass’s, he reflects, because he’s sure he heard someone talk about their mother being from Korea while their father was a British pureblood.

Most of all, his eyes are no longer green. That was expected, he knew he probably wouldn’t share Lily Potter’s eyes, but it still startles him most. His right eye is silver, the same kind of silver as Sirius, but lighter in the same way as when the light caught a brand-new sickle. On the left the iris is dark, so dark he’s scared to look closer, and for a moment he thinks it’s as black as a pupil. But no, he couldn’t get that lucky, instead his left eye is burgundy and Harry refuses to think of red eyes looking down on him in the dim light of the graveyard.

Harry refuses to think about it much at all.

The door opens to show an expectant Vrikt and Harry nods, assuming the goblin was just impatient and checking if he was ready. He follows the goblin out. “You were unconscious for rather longer than usual. Did you see anything?” The goblin questions as they walk and Harry coughs in surprise. “You did then. Strange but not surprising considering who you are,” Vrikt considers.

He feels terribly slow but would like to think it’s been because the year has kicked his ass so many times over it was more trouble than it was worth to keep up. “How did you know?” Harry decides to ask.

Vrikt looks at him like they’re not sure he’s worth the time. “The waters properties allow higher beings to connect with us mortals, Mr Potter. There are all manner of higher beings; gods, the pillars of magic, they can all reach out if they choose. It is simply rare they decide anyone is worth their attention. Do you know who you connected with?”

Harry thinks it over but really doesn’t have a clue. “No, but they said we would see each other again.” He doesn’t mention that the being called themselves a friend and claimed to know him, he thinks that should probably stay between them.

A shiver runs through him, goosebumps rising at the back of his neck, when it feels like someone was breathing right behind him. Like someone had chuckled and their cold breath had washed over his skin.

“Strange, but you are far from usual Mr Potter.”

Harry, in a moment of childish spite, pulls a face at the goblins back.

The sound of Remus and Sirius arguing inside drifts into the hallway and they’re so locked into it that they don’t notice the door open. “– Will you two stop arguing if you kiss already?” Harry asks earnestly and Sirius snaps his mouth shut while Remus, ears bright red, genuinely seems to consider the suggestion. Their surprise only lasts a minute because both men stare at him blankly. “Do I have something on my face?” He jokes weakly.

It must snap Sirius out of his daze because his godfather lunges forward to hug him again. “Oh, Harry, you look like a right Black, you know.” Sirius tells him when he finally releases him, though his hands remain on his shoulders, and Harry tries for a grin.

“Heterochromia is even rarer in wizards than it is in muggles.” Remus says with a note of curiosity which makes Harry wonder if his eyes were as striking as his scar.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Ignore him, he’s trying to insist he can’t take the flat.”

 _That_ is exactly the kind of distraction Harry needs so he raises an eyebrow. “So, we’re definitely gonna find a way to make him, right? If we decorate it then he’ll have to accept it so our hard work doesn’t go to waste.” Sirius laughs so hard he throws his head back.

Remus is far less amused, huffing and crossing his arms. “You’re a terrible influence on him.”

Harry considers telling Remus that he gets it. He hates accepting anything after so many years of being denied everything by the Dursleys, if he can’t get it himself it feels awkward to accept and some days he doubts he deserves anything at all, but he doesn’t think it would help if he admitted that.

“Seeing as we are going to be dealing with the glamour ring today, it would be a suitable time to deal with Mr Potter’s heirship rings.” Ironclaw says though he verges on murderous and Harry feels a wave of sympathy for the goblin if he’d had to sit through Sirius and Remus bickering the entire time.

Keeping in mind the goblin seemed ready to face the consequences of killing his clients, Harry shrugs and quickly finds a seat. Three ring boxes sit on the table. “This is the Potter heir ring; I assume that will be your primacy preference. This will go on your right index finger. The next is the Black heir ring now that Lord Black has formalised his request. That will go on your right middle finger. The glamour ring, finally, will go on your left index finger and will be invisible whilst you wear it.”

Harry admires both heirship rings before slipping them on, the metal heating up before shrinking to fit, and hurries to slip on the glamour ring. When it slides on his finger, he feels the magic wash over him, the image of the ring seeming to ripple before vanishing from sight despite still feeling heavy on his hand.

“Will you still be going ahead with the blood adoption today or shall we conclude our business?”

“As long as you want to, Harry. I told you, this doesn’t change anything. You’re my family, still my pup.” Sirius encourages him, not even pausing in his offer, and Harry’s eyes sting a little.

“He’s right, you’re still our pup.” Remus adds pointedly, making Sirius stick out his tongue childishly in response, and Harry’s smile feels real for the first time all day at the glimpse of how carefree the two friends used to be. If they could still be here, able to joke and smile, then there was hope for him too despite everything going on.


	2. Remus is kind of a badass.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hedwig deserves more treats and Harry does an arson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has big filler energy but it also sets up like. Most of what the kids call plot. So. 
> 
> Anyway big ass warning for abuse in this chapter. It's not especially graphic but it is there. Also this fic is somewhat divergent from canon in Harry and Dumbledore's relationship which starts getting referenced in this chapter. It's not especially big but Harry isn't as blind to Dumbledore's bullshittery as canon. 
> 
> I own nothing except the mental image of Remus royally fucking up Vernon.

Little over a week before what was meant to be his fifteenth birthday, Harry finally decides he’s had enough. His shock, the numbness of the school year and Gringotts, had given way to anger.

Anger at the idea his birth father was most likely a death eater.

Anger at himself for not hoping the man was very much dead.

Anger at the idea he might just be betraying the Potter’s, the wonderful, adopted parents who took him in and refused to regret it no matter the outcome.

Anger at the fact Voldemort was out there again while Dumbledore ignored him even more than usual.

Anger, especially, at the Dursleys and the way Petunia had gotten angry at the sight of his heir rings and tried to take them away only to find magic wouldn’t let her. Vernon had been even worse than usual after that, leaving fresh bruises up Harry’s arms.

Maybe anger was too mild a word when Harry had issues with most of the world.

But he has simply had enough because Lily Potter, the woman who took him in and sacrificed her life for him, had demanded Harry not live with Petunia. The only reason he had ever had to live with the Dursley’s instead of Sirius, the only reason Sirius had ever been blamed, was because the minister and Dumbledore sealed the will.

Harry had suffered for years because they decided the Potter’s last wishes didn’t matter.

So, a little over a week before his supposed birthday, Harry decides to steal back his trunk and leave. He has no plan on where to go but he can slip off his ring and go anywhere, he could find a magical inn and owl Hermione because she would know what to do next.

He could…he could find Alya Black. She was alive and out there and he could _find_ _her_. He could ask her why she was so scared she blocked his magic, and he could ask why she didn’t come back for him after the Potters were dead.

Harry decides to steal his trunk back and run in the early afternoon of a day that wasn’t really significant at all. It wouldn’t be hard; they were ignoring them most of the time these days if they weren’t spitting insults at him for his nightmares.

Dudley sees Harry picking the lock, and Harry can’t shut his not-cousin up before he shouts for Vernon.

Harry gets a beating, the kind he hasn’t seen since he was eleven and Vernon got too scared that wizards would notice. It had always made Harry secretly laugh because no one had brought up the bars on his window and no one ever asked about just how skinny he was every September.

This one goes on until Harry can barely breathe and for a moment he’s sure Vernon wasn’t going to stop at all. He gasps for breath and he grits his teeth but even with pain wracking his body he still refuses to cry. He started refusing to cry for the Dursleys when he was four years old and they’ve barely gotten a tear from him since.

Vernon wrestles him by his collar when Harry can barely stand and unlocks the cupboard. “Were you planning on stealing from us boy!” Vernon yells, face purple as a plum. Harry gasps back a no but Vernon shakes him by the neck again, “You were, weren’t you? A delinquent like you – I told Tuney the day we found you, I told her, a freak like you was going to ruin us! Scrounge our money then the taxpayer, stealing from good folk your whole life just like your father.” Vernon shoves him into the cupboard. “If you want your freak things so badly, then you can stay with them.”

The door slams shut, locking loudly, and leaves Harry in the dark. He can hardly move with the pain freezing up his joints, and in the dark he can only hear his own laboured breaths.

Harry doesn’t know how long he stays there trying to simply focus on staying alive when it would really cause an inconvenience for Vernon if he died. As always, it becomes a competition of who he wants to piss off more; if he died then Vernon would have hell to pay but, if he lived, then that would really piss off Voldemort.

He doesn’t know at what point he starts to feel angry again, the same anger that got him here, but slowly it even overpowers the pain because he starts to wonder why.

Why he ever had to stay here and why Dumbledore never noticed a thing. Why Hagrid didn’t say anything about Harry being left on a dirty floor without even a blanket and why he returned to Hogwarts every year with dark bruises no one ever questioned.

The first person who ever made comment on it, Harry thinks somewhat hysterically, was Tom fucking Riddle. The same ghost of the man who wanted Harry dead and he had said more than a school of teachers and a legion of adults.

Harry is simply done. He wants out, he wants to never see this house again, he wants to see it collapse brick by brick with the rest of Privet Drive.

The cupboard door is blown to pieces.

He stares at the empty space confused for a moment. _Oh_ , Sue Li had told him about this once. Back in first year the muggle-raised had tried meeting up a few times and Sue had been a fellow half-blood raised by muggles. More importantly, she hated her muggles as much as he hated his and every year they found time to check in on each other now and then.

Sue had told him, back in third year, that accidental magic didn’t just stop. Hogwarts just taught you to control it through a wand and spells, but you could control it all on your own, if you tried hard enough, and the ministry would never notice. She had smiled at him wickedly without offering to explain just how she discovered that little fact and Harry never asked because some things didn’t need to be said.

Harry unlocks his trunk and only takes his wand and the worn-down holster he purchased on a whim, the map and cloak, and his Gringotts account book. The rest can stay, he doesn’t care for it enough to be recognised, and Hedwig was already out to stretch her wings. On second thought, he takes the winter cloak he purchased at Yule because it would help hide the blood on his shirt.

Shaky legs carry him out and when he looks back, he realises a small fire is burning up the cupboard. Harry decides to let it burn and slips the glamour ring into his too big pocket before heading out the back door.

.

No one will tell Sirius what is going on when half the order is called out. He’s left alone at Grimmauld Place utterly helpless because the only thing that could require this much attention was Voldemort or Harry. Sirius doesn’t like either option.

He’s pacing the kitchen when Snape comes back with an almost feral Remus. “Control your fucking Wolf, Mutt.” The potions master spits.

Sirius grabs Remus just before he can lunge for Snape’s neck. “You’re his teacher – how didn’t you know!” Remus snarls, and confirms to Sirius this is about Harry.

“I’m far from the first person he’s likely to confide in, Lupin. You were his teacher too, were you not?” Snape sneers back. It seems desperate, like he might not believe it himself, and Sirius holds Remus tighter.

“What in Merlin’s name is going on!” Sirius shouts, bringing the two men to silence. “What happened to Harry?” He’s had enough of being in the dark, of being left to worry for his pup, while they shout at each other. Remus stills suddenly, turning heavy in Sirius’ arms, like his attentions been dragged back to something he wanted to avoid. “…Is he okay? Where is he?” Sirius asks suddenly and his blood runs cold, but his lord ring is still cold too isn’t it? It would burn hot if Harry were in danger, wouldn’t it?

“We _presume_ he’s alive.” Snape drawls.

Sirius is nearly knocked off balance when Remus lunges again. “The Dursleys…the house was on fire. Magically caused. It wasn’t death eaters –” The wolf explains stiffly.

“Why would Harry set it?” Sirius asks. He thinks about watching his godson sat at the side of the road looking so small and he thinks about how quiet he was at Gringotts. He thinks about how that wasn’t like Harry at all because he was so full of energy at Hogwarts and Harry didn’t even look small when facing a dragon, but he looked tiny in Gringotts.

Remus continues as if Sirius hadn’t interrupted. “The Dursleys weren’t there yet when we were putting it out…we were trying to work out if it was death eaters, so we looked for the origin.”

“It was a cupboard under the stairs.” Snape interrupts coldly. “Potter’s trunk was also located there. We found rather a lot of blood and evidence someone had been living in there for some time. When the Dursleys returned, your wolf decided to take a look in his mind after he accused Potter of causing the fire.”

“I know you did too,” Remus spits and Sirius wonders what he might have done if he wasn’t restrained. Snape sneers back, raising his hooked nose high, “I did, but I wasn’t so stupid as to try and kill him in the street.”

Sirius still holds onto Remus but, now, it’s mostly for his own support because if he lets go his knees might give way.

“They nearly killed him. Dursley beat him and left him in a cupboard and they left, and they treat him like a fucking house elf – they always have – and none of you noticed! You were meant to watch him and protect him, and you didn’t even notice what they were doing to him! He could have died there five times over and where were you?” Remus explodes, very suddenly, but he doesn’t fight to get free. Remus holds onto Sirius’ arms around him tightly and Sirius lets his own head drop to the other man’s shoulder.

“It was never my job to watch him you – I could ask you where you were just the same.” Snape snaps back but Sirius isn’t so sure their old rival believes it himself.

He lets go of Remus but only so he can grab the table instead, feeling both incredibly sick and crushing down that rage that sent him after Pettigrew fourteen years ago instead of looking after his godson.

“Do you think I wanted that? He’s arrogant, lazy, I’d happily never see him again. But he’s Lily’s son and I never thought…” Snape continues talking, more subdued now, and for his own benefit rather than theirs.

Sirius resists snarling that Harry wasn’t Lily’s son at all, not in the way Snape meant it, and would the potions master care then. “He’s too small. That’s what I thought – when I found him after Azkaban. I thought he needed a lotta meals because a quidditch player shouldn’t be so small, not even a seeker. But he didn’t say anything. I knew he hated it there, but he didn’t say they were like that. I should have figured he was too proud to try.” He admits, barely more than a whisper, and both men finally shut up. “He could be out there, _dying_ , because I never asked.”

Remus’ hand is heavy on his shoulder and Sirius covers it with his own. “Half the orders still there, looking for him nearby. His wand was gone so he has it, and ministry officials know now too. The Dursley’s are going to be…they’re going to Azkaban.” Remus tells him like it’s any comfort at all. Sirius wasn’t the type to wish Azkaban on anyone anymore, not after his years trapped there, but the idea of the Dursley’s going there offers him just a little satisfaction.

“Potter had the odd luck of coming out of these things alive. I imagine there is little chance of this killing him if a Basilisk couldn’t.” Snape comments. Sirius blinks up at him in stunned silence for a few seconds, “…were you trying to be comforting?”

Snape looks outright insulted. “I believe you, by the way. You and Lily being…well, if anyone knew what a cow Petunia was, you would.” This, apparently, is one step too far for Snape who sweeps out of the room with a rather pronounced scowl.

They wait in silence as his steps trail away. “Do we tell them? That he might have taken the ring off?” Remus asks quietly when it seems safe.

Sirius turns to look at him properly because he’s not quite sure himself before shaking his head. “We Blacks are a paranoid bunch. The Lord and Heir rings are linked, if the heir is close to death then the ring turns itself into a portkey, so he’s safe for now. If we don’t hear from him soon or the ring tells us he’s in trouble, then we tell them.” He plays with the lord ring on his finger, just to remind himself it’s still simply cold steel.

.

Harry finds an inn near the coast, similar enough to his original plan, after an unpleasant trip on the Knight Bus. No one on the bus looks too closely at his scar but the real test of whether anyone would use it to connect him to Harry Potter would be checking in up close.

He draws the cloak tighter before he enters _The Stone Sphinx_ which is a rather small inn, a lot smaller than the Leaky Cauldron and probably as dodgy as The Hogs Head, but he doubts anyone will come looking for him here. This, also, doesn’t have a pub but that suits Harry fine too. Less people to sneak by.

The old man behind the desk eyes him carefully, and Harry desperately tries to think up some excuses for his scar to throw the man off, but he’s just asked for a name and room preference. The innkeeper gives him a funny look when he gives the name Hydrus Black so Harry shrugs and shares, truthfully, that he’s from a lesser branch of the Black family.

Through some miracle nothing else goes wrong and he gets a fairly decent room, secure in the knowledge that the goblins wouldn’t be telling Dumbledore or the ministry about any funds coming out of his account.

Harry spends the rest of the night trying to direct his magic and heal himself without any spells, concentrating on what Sue once told him and how it felt to blow up the door. There was a small market nearby, according to a helpful enough Stan Shunpike, and he makes plans to go there the next morning to buy anything he might need.

If Dumbledore wanted to leave him in the dark after he was the one to see Cedric die and Voldemort return, then the old man could deal with Harry leaving the country and doing something for himself.

Harry simply refuses to feel guilty after four years of trying to earn the headmaster’s approval no matter the danger.

The market is far smaller than Diagon, maybe even smaller than Knockturn, but it’s there for people travelling light so it has everything he needs. A new bag, some healing potions, and clean clothes. There are also numerous copies of the Daily Prophet on show claiming Harry Potter had been kidnapped after years being abused under Dumbledores watch. Harry resists the urge to burn them all and ignores the headline despite the looks he gets for not caring about the wizarding worlds saviour.

Better strangers think bad about him than he actually has to think about the fact everyone knew about the Dursleys.

Hedwig finds him and lands on his window just after dinner. She nips at his fingers when he approaches but settles down when she connects the feel of his magic to her wizard, though Harry assumes if she could speak then his familiar would refer to him far less kindly.

Harry immediately sets to work writing a letter for Sirius and Remus, but it also takes five attempts to get something decent and he carefully marks the front with H. M. B so only they will recognise who it’s from.

> _Dear Sirius and Remus,_
> 
> _Please don’t worry too much, I’m alright and I’m safe. I won’t be recognised either so there’s no danger._
> 
> _I don’t want anyone else to know just yet._
> 
> _Hope you’re both okay._

It’s exactly the kind of thing Hermione would yell at him for, but he thinks it says enough so sends Hedwig off with the promise she doesn’t let anyone else see her. He doesn’t want to get this far only for Dumbledore to catch him out with a tracking spell, after all.

It takes two hours to get a letter back, barely any time at all, and he makes sure to give his familiar extra treats for all the hassle. Upon opening the letter, he’s surprised it wasn’t a howler because the scrawl is so rushed he can barely read it and it screams of Sirius’ panic.

> _Write back as soon as you get this, Pup._
> 
> _I should have asked you why you were so eager to stop living with them back in your third year. We knew Petunia was rotten when she refused to go to Lily and James’ wedding but we both thought she wouldn’t be so foul to her own nephew._
> 
> _It is understandable if you cannot forgive us for leaving you there but, if it helps, Moony punched Vernon in the middle of the street. I’ve been begging Arthur to share the memory, but I think he’s sour he lost the chance. Apparently, it was unfair for them to line up and hit him._
> 
> _Dumbledores got the order scouring Surrey for you and we won’t tell him just yet but please tell us where you are so we can come get you. You shouldn’t be out there alone right now, and your friend Ron’s been throwing a fit since they’re not letting him help out with the search. The twins keep trying to distract him, but they’re worried too, not even apparating around the place is helping cheer them up._
> 
> _Hermione’s terrifying, by the way._
> 
> _You’re like your dad that way – Marlene could be terrifying when we were in school. Not even Lily could make him shut up the way she could. She was still his favourite friend after me._
> 
> _If you take too long then Moony is gonna be as grey as Dumbledore._
> 
> _Sirius._

Harry isn’t sure he can imagine Remus hitting anyone so he might just need to see that memory himself. He’s mostly just glad that they gave him the curtesy of not putting a spell on Hedwig.

Ignoring the fact that everyone knows about the Dursleys once again, Harry puts his quill to parchment to try and explain his plans without cringing at how selfish he feels for leaving them all so worried. He rips up four different drafts while Hedwig judges him before he can settle on one.

> _Sirius,_
> 
> _I’m sorry for worrying you all. Please tell the order to stop searching Surrey because I’m not there and they’re just putting themselves in danger by looking. I meant it when I said I’m safe, I’m even in a nice little inn right now._
> 
> _But I can’t come back or tell you where I am._
> 
> _Dumbledore won’t let me help fight Voldemort and I’m tired of being kept in the dark, if you found me then he would probably send me off to the Burrow and refuse to tell me anything there either. I want to find Alya. I’ve bought a portkey so I can start looking and I’ll be careful, but I have so much I need to ask her._
> 
> _I think I need to do this, even if it’s just to find out why._
> 
> _There is nothing to forgive, and I’m well aware of how scary Hermione is. She once threatened me into doing my potions essay when even Snape didn’t scare me enough._
> 
> _Harry._
> 
> _P.S. Who is Marlene?_

.

Harry is packing up his things the next day, ready to check out and take the portkey to France, when Hedwig returns with both a letter and a parcel. He’s cautious, again, just in case anyone had noticed the letters going back and forth but he sits on the bed and opens it anyway.

> _Pup,_
> 
> _We won’t tell the order or Dumbledore, but we have conditions. We both refuse to spend the next few weeks worried about you attracting a natural disaster._
> 
> _One owl a week, sent to the flat, so we know you’re actually alive and updating us. Fire calls whenever we can schedule them. Moony’s accepting the flat so we have an excuse to get away. Keep your head down because you never know where a death eater might be, even in Europe, and they might take an interest in your scar._
> 
> _Moony is worried you’re going to backpack through Europe, meet a hippie, and come back engaged so please don’t do that. I would say don’t do anything I wouldn’t do but he pointed out that’s not a big list so try not to do anything Moony wouldn’t do._
> 
> _Coincidentally, Moony didn’t specify that it’s anything he wouldn’t do now, and he was pretty wild when we were in school so do with that what you will._
> 
> _There is a lot to forgive, even if you’re too kind to admit it pup._
> 
> _Last I heard, Alya lived in New Delhi. She might have moved but someone there will recognise the family name. Us Black like to leave a mark. We’ve enclosed a gift that should help. One drop of blood and it will point you in the right direction._
> 
> _Sirius._
> 
> _P.S. Remind me to tell you about Marlene and Dorcas sometime._

The gift in question is a small compass encased in gold with a sharp point in the middle Harry assumes he’s meant to prick his finger on. Two needlepoints sit completely still in black and red, both facing north, and when he stabs his finger on it, they spin wildly. The red one stills pointing east across the channel and the black one points south east, and Harry knows, without needing to ask, that they each point in the direction of one of his birth parents.

Maybe, if he’s really lucky, the black one is just pointing to a grave.

Harry sends back three letters. One for Sirius and Remus to agree to the terms and express his gratitude for the gift. One for Hermione and one for Ron with similar messages asking them both to calm down and relax because he will see them at Hogwarts.

He also tells Hedwig to stay with Sirius and Remus this time because she won’t be able to follow him halfway across the world. She nips his fingers in protest, feathers ruffled at the idea she couldn’t make the trip, but he watches her fly away before he grabs his things and leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoy the image of the muggle-raised students of Hogwarts getting together just to bitch. Like some first year is there like magic is cool but I miss my fortnite. Harry and Hermione may have adopted each other on sight but Harry and Sue trauma bonded and Harry pretends he doesn't know she's done a bodily harm to some muggles.


	3. Sirius Black is a Thespian.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one appreciates Sirius and Harry talks to the ghost of Christmas present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant it when I said this was a serotonin fic but here's a whiff of subplot. How wild. Not really any warnings in this chapter but Harry has many issues so there's the general depression that comes with him. Also I know this isn't how fire-calls work in canon but are you telling me you genuinely believe Lucius Malfoy shoves his head into a fireplace on a semi regular basis just to scheme?? I do not believe. 
> 
> I own nothing except the ghosts of magic forcing therapy on Harry.

Gathered in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, to one side Molly frets and fumes in equal measure over Harry and why she hadn’t tried harder to question him at the end of every summer. On the other side, Hermione was very close to deciding to ignore the limits of magic and invent a way to portkey directly to Harry for the sole purpose of yelling at him.

Harry’s letters, unsurprisingly, hadn’t been much comfort at all when they were the equivalent to a ‘ _see you later_ ’ and ‘ _trust me_ ’.

The trust me might have been comforting or helpful if he didn’t have a terrible habit of attracting natural disasters and catastrophes.

“Sirius,” Dumbledore begins in the same way he has every day for a week. The old man’s patience was beginning to wear thin. “Do you have any idea where Harry might be? It’s unusual he hasn’t come looking for you or gone to the Burrow or even been seen in Diagon. You were both the last ones to see him, are you sure he didn’t mention anything?”

Sirius meets Remus’ eyes over the table and pretends to think. He would call the performance Oscar worthy, carried out with a certain flair as he studies his drink and leans back in his chair, and might have demanded an award at the end of all this. If he tried, however, Remus would certainly burst his bubble and claim not a single person believed it. Sirius Orion Black has dignity, pride, and acting talents wasted outside of the theatre, so he will not open himself up to such an unfair critic.

“I don’t, Albus, his letter with Hedwig was just to tell us he was fine and not to look for him.” Sirius shakes his head, “Then it burst into flames. If it hadn’t then I would’ve given it to you to try and track him.” A blatant lie, he had set all the letters on fire immediately after reading just to keep that from happening.

“He’s probably embarrassed, Dumbledore. Harry’s a proud boy, he’ll know by now that we all know about the Dursleys, he won’t want to deal with the attention.” Remus adds as if it’s the most reasonable thing and it’s Dumbledore’s fault for not thinking of it himself. He’s also not technically wrong because Harry hadn’t wanted to talk about the Dursleys at all in his letters.

Another letter was due soon. Remus had been marking down the days.

Ron frowns down at the old wooden table. “Lupin’s right, headmaster – Harry hates all that stuff. He doesn’t even like fuss when he’s hurt, he got mad at Hermione for fluffing his pillow after the bludger incident.”

Dumbledore looks like he’s sucked a lemon. “Well, if he owls any of you again then you need to come straight to me. He’s in danger out there alone.” Sirius nods and averts his eyes because he doesn’t consider agreeing for even a second. “Severus, do you have any news?”

The potions master lets out a long-suffering sigh, but no one present pays it any mind. Snape tended to give Sirius a run for his money when it came to dramatics with how often he let them all know he hated being there. “The Dark Lord has no more idea where the boy is than we do, Albus.” Sirius hides a smirk at the simple knowledge the three of them were tricking the two most powerful men in Britain. “And, frankly, I don’t think he cares. He has a few death eaters looking through the country but hasn’t devoted any considerable resources to the search. The only new development he appears to care about is the news someone on the continent has been asking about elementals.”

Probably a little too fast, Sirius looks to Remus again and clamps down on the urge to fidget. That must be Harry, it was too much of a coincidence not to be, and he was going to catch their attention all over again.

Dumbledore shakes his head slowly, seemingly a little alarmed about the type of magic. “Tom is a paranoid man; he keeps ears to the ground for talk of the olde magics. I doubt there’s anything to worry about.”

Oddly enough, Sirius doesn’t believe him for a moment.

.

The fire call connects instantly to show Harry sitting glamourless and cross-legged on a hotel room floor.

“Never do that to us again.” Remus says as soon as they both know he’s fine. Harry looks between them for help and Sirius offers a simple shrug. “An entire day before you told us you were okay – and now your letter was a day late as well.” Remus continues with such a note of disappointment that even Sirius cringes.

Harry grimaces, nervously running a hand through his messy hair. “Well – Hedwig had to find me first. I owled as soon as she did! And I really didn’t realise international owls took so long to travel because I sent one yesterday!” He protests childishly, and with no effect on Remus’ frown. Then, Harry looks back to Sirius with a sly little grin that just screams trouble. “I told you we’d get him to accept the flat.”

It’s a good job they were using the flat instead of trying to sneak these calls in at Grimmauld because Sirius cackles loudly and falls off his chair in the process.

“The two of you are going to be the death of me,” Remus sighs, ever so mournful, and slumps down in his chair.

Sirius shoves his legs lightly. “You’ve been saying that since _we_ were first years, Moony.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true!”

Harry grins at the banter and it’s the same reckless flash of teeth even without the glamour. Sirius would know that smile anywhere by now because he had made it his mission to see it as often as possible two years earlier.

“You’re doing okay so far then? Where have you got to know.” Sirius asks, jumping back into his chair, and trying to ease his nerves.

“Oh, I’m in a hotel in Lyon right now. They have a really small magical district but it’s not too bad and I’ve made a plan of how I’m gonna get to India. Spent a full day planning a route and everything. I’m taking a train to Milan tomorrow so I can miss Germany altogether and I’ll head to Croatia from there.” Harry ducks his head, shrinking just a little. “Uh, actually, I’m going to Annecy tomorrow ‘cause I was told they have really good magical bookstores there with specialties. I was going to stop in Italy a few times too – I hate that you’re stuck there and you’re fighting Voldemort and I’m taking a trip across Europe when I could get there so much faster otherwise.”

Remus looks at him with the same frustration he feels. “Harry.” Sirius cuts in to stop his godson beating himself up for daring to be a teenager. “It’s okay. You are allowed to actually enjoy yourself and there’s more to your life than this war. Let yourself breathe.”

What he doesn’t say is that he wants Harry to enjoy this. Sirius wants Harry to take as many stops as he wants and make memories and find some joy in this world after everything it had put him through. Sirius wants Harry to just be a normal teenager so badly he will look Dumbledore in the eye and lie before he lets any of them drag his godson back before he’s ready.

“Harry, after everything you’ve been through – not just with them but at Hogwarts too – you deserve to do something for yourself. If you want to take the whole summer then you’re allowed to do that, and if you want to spend even more time after you find Alya then we’ll sure as hell make Dumbledore leave you alone.” Remus says in what Sirius likes to think of as his teacher voice. The werewolf had used it on he and James even when they were kids, and it was equal parts stern and warm but almost definitely fashioned after McGonagall.

From the look on Harry’s face, it had also been used on him plenty back in third year.

“Actually, you really need to be careful too. You-Know-Who has informants everywhere and one of them told him there was someone asking about elementals.” Sirius jumps in before Harry can try and protest the assertation he was allowed to just be a child.

Harry looks absolutely outraged. “But I didn’t even ask anyone! I bought a book – I didn’t even ask where to find the books!” His godson cries first, jumping forward onto his knees to protest the injustice. Then Harry deflates like a burst balloon, “Well, I can’t even ask for help with translation spells then, can I? I didn’t realise most of it was in French when I bought it.”

Sirius snorts, unable to help himself, but Remus outright groans into his hands. “No one told him. Oh, Harry, you know the trace doesn’t work like that right? The ministry set up wards in muggle areas, they can’t just tell you’re doing magic. Otherwise, they could use the trace to find you right now.”

Clearly, no one had by the mix of devastation and outrage on Harry’s face.

Sirius bursts into laughter again. “It’s not funny Sirius! It’s bloody cold here – I couldn’t even do a warming spell all day an’ you know how funny people look at you when you say you can’t do a spell.” Harry complains, but it only serves to make him laugh harder.

The boy looks utterly stricken by the time he finally sobers. “So, pup, what are your plans tomorrow? I expect you to buy yourself a cake and pig out since you’ve denied us the pleasure of stealing any.” He asks expectantly and Harry pulls a face back.

“I’m going for the train; I’ll be travelling most of the day Sirius. Buy yourself a cake.”

He clutches his heart in horror, looking to his oldest friend for backup. “Then eat it for breakfast!”

His oldest friend shoves him off his chair. “Don’t listen to this _child_ –”

“Absolutely listen to this child, I’m giving you an order as your blood adopted father!” Sirius immediately counters.

“Don’t be scared to revoke that Harry!”

Harry laughs at the two of them. “Can you two get a room already? No wonder dad left you both the flat.”

They both immediately separate themselves, quit all bickering, and pretend like they know nothing at all. If you were to ask McGonagall, she would say they perfected that routine in fourth year.

“He didn’t leave us _both_ –” Sirius argues quickly.

One loud snort cuts him off. “Yes, he did! They left you the couch in the flat and I bet you haven’t even moved it out from sheer stubbornness. It’s basically giving you somewhere to stay while you’re there unless you two wanna start –”

“The couch is going next week.” Remus cuts in quickly.

Harry, the little shit that he is, doesn’t even do them the courtesy of nodding and pretending to believe them. “What day, ‘cause I want to fire-call and see proof it’s gone.”

Remus glares in the couches general direction like it might do the responsible thing and burst into flames immediately.

“Wednesday. We’re moving it to Grimmauld to horrify my mother’s portrait.” Sirius declares, and Harry raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t think there was anywhere to put it there. Is there a secret undecorated living room or something?”

“We’re magically resizing it into an armchair.” Remus replies stubbornly.

The little shit smirks at them. “Are you going to create that spell?” Harry asks innocently, as if he wasn’t torturing them on his parent’s behalf. Sirius is sure that, wherever he was in the afterlife, James was enjoying this immensely.

“This has been a great call, happy birthday Harry, I think someone’s coming. Talk to you next week. Love you.” Sirius rushes out as Harry cackles on the other end and disconnects the call.

.

Harry stays up until midnight to wish himself a happy birthday on a day that isn’t technically his birthday and proceeds to nearly miss his train. As a reward for making it in time after a mad dash through the city, upon his arrival to Annecy he goes straight to the magical shopping district to utilise the new magical trunk he purchased in Lyon.

The new trunk is marked with a small _H. M. B_ on the front and he had spent an hour trying not to overthink it. It was recommended to wixen who liked to travel with a library compartment, a sitting room, wardrobe, and kitchen. Most importantly, it had a built-in timer to tell you how long was left before your next stop and it was immovable whilst someone was inside. He could easily spend most of his time on the train in there reading or napping without any worries.

Vault 687 probably hadn’t seen so much use in decades with the way Harry had been filling the library and wardrobe of his new trunk. He spends three hours on his not-birthday simply buying new clothes as well as any book that catches his interest now that he knows he’s free to use translation spells as he pleases.

Harry also buys a cake to eat for dinner, just as Sirius encouraged, as soon as he reaches his hotel and promptly passes out once again after stuffing himself full. He’s not actually sure why he celebrates his not-birthday though he suspects it’s a mix of habit and lingering denial, but he has few positive associations with the day and decides to himself this will be the last one.

Next year he will celebrate in August.

Coincidentally, next year he won’t have a glamour ring and will have had to tell everyone back home the truth. That is a problem for later.

What Harry hadn’t told Sirius and Remus during their call was that, despite all his previous objections, he’s starting to feel more comfortable with the name Hydrus. Just like the being told him, Harry Potter belonged to everyone but himself.

Harry Potter was all over the front page of the Daily Prophet because they were tearing his name in every direction, claiming he might have been kidnapped and he might have run away in shame for falsely claiming Voldemort was back. The name Harry Potter was on the lips of wizarding society because the Dursleys were being trialled for what they did to him.

Harry adamantly pretends he doesn’t care about that at all.

Hydrus Black belongs to himself only.

Hydrus is travelling France and Europe and he is flirting with a French boy on the train because the Dursleys weren’t there to spit insults at him and this stranger isn’t just in awe of Harry Potter. Hydrus is learning French and magic Dumbledore would rather he never touch.

(Hydrus is running the other way and nearly falling over his own feet when he sees Fleur Delacour in public because if she sees his heir rings then she might recognise them and him. He runs even faster because if he talks to his fellow champion then he might think of Cedric and if he thinks of Cedric he must think of secret touches and a crush he could never speak out loud and a flash of green light.)

Most importantly, Hydrus is able to buy himself clothes that fit and the things he wants without feeling guilty Ron wouldn’t accept his help or feeling scared the Dursleys would take it away. Hydrus Black doesn’t hate his own skin or agree with Vernon that he shouldn’t have been born when the night seems to go on for too long.

.

The book on Elementals Harry picked up when he first got to France proves incredibly useful and absolutely worth the risk of getting caught. He realises this on the train to Milan after three attempts at a translation spell before he can even start to read it.

Elementals, as he discovers, are a very old form of magic that could only be inherited, passed down in blood only and rarely shared outside families. A child’s element would often be a counter to the parents, though all the elements could counter each other in some way, and there was a ritual to confirm which way you leaned.

The book, an inspired purchase really, details that ritual.

Harry decides to do it at the next hotel because it would be too late to enjoy the young wizarding scene in the city anyway. The guides said Milan was full of new experimental magic and a history that Harry really wants to explore.

Given Elemental magic was passed down by blood, he’s almost certain that his ability came from his father because surely Sirius would have known if it came from Alya. Harry truly cannot think of a death eater that might be that powerful and there are no lists of families with the ability so he’s no closer to knowing their identity but that’s not a terrible thing. It’s better, probably, to not have a face to put to the father who wants him dead.

It is with perverse pleasure that Harry thinks Voldemort can’t be an Elemental because the monster would have flaunted it in the same way he boasted being a Parselmouth. The name Marvolo, he reasons, must just be more common in the wizarding world than he thought. Harry has something Voldemort doesn’t and the knowledge makes him grin like a madman out of pure childish spite.

He might have had the misfortune to share plenty with the man, but _this_ is his and his alone. Harry looks forward to laughing about that with Sirius and Remus on their next call because he’s sure Sirius would be just as petty as him.

So, at the next hotel, which costs a good few galleons and nearly makes him wince at the price despite not even denting his vault, Harry eats one meal he can’t pronounce and climbs into his trunk.

It would probably be safer to carry out the ritual in absolute privacy.

Harry changes his clothes into something he wouldn’t mind damaging, seals the sitting room door, and moves all the furniture to the side before spelling it for extra safety. Once all of that is done, he cuts his palm and draws the ritual circle on the wooden floor. Harry kneels in the centre before he uses his own blood to draw the runes he spent all day studying.

Absently, he wonders if it’s too late to take a runes OWL when he goes back. Claim he was too stressed to take the actual classes, but he’d privately self-studied them the last two years. Two shelves of his library are packed full of books on warding and runes, and he’ll probably pick up more over the rest of his travels, and he feels surprisingly confident about being able to pass an OWL on the subjects.

Seeing as he doesn’t even have his school supplies yet, he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

Then he takes the four bowls he requested at reception and places each on a rune. One holds water, one ash (Harry had burnt some paper), the next mud and finally a single leaf.

The poor receptionist had looked helpless and confused but, upon seeing two heir rings, had quickly obliged.

He dribbles his blood into each bowl and forces his voice to remain steady. “ _Sanguis sanguinem in potestatem et virtutem_.”

The water turns thick and red, grass grows over the mud, a branch starts to form rapidly at the end of the leaf stem, and the ashes reform into a small, contained flame.

“ _Ego offerre mea, et detraxi in magica vires meum rogare et ostende mihi_.”

His world goes black, much like when the water dragged him under at Gringotts, and for that reason he doesn’t feel quite so confused this time.

“What a strange boy you are.” Not the same voice as last time – it’s _his_ voice. A double of himself sits at a table in the middle of the darkness and Harry hesitantly takes the other seat. His double is not quite identical, they seem taller and their hair is longer and they’re not quite as thin as he is. That burgundy left eye is a brighter red too and he looks away because the sight makes him uncomfortable. “I give you a glimpse of an idealised you, the one you could be,” His double says patiently.

Harry blinks. “Are you Lady Magic?” He asks bluntly and immediately winces. “Sorry, I mean, may I ask if you are? It’s just that the book didn’t mention anyone being here and I know you’re not the same person – entity – as last time this happened, and I _was_ asking Lady Magic for help.” He explains in one breath.

His double laughs freely. “Yes, I am. I’m pleased you asked. I appeared to your father too, but you are far more pleasant to talk to.” Lady Magic says and Harry bites his tongue hard because he does not want to ask about that. “I thought you hated dark magic. Elementals are classed as dark and old.” Lady Magic points out, sounding just a bit curious in a way he can only identify through knowing his own voice.

This was all probably some grand metaphor for knowing yourself but, Harry thinks, jokes on magic because he has spent five years refusing to self-reflect. He’s dodged all of Hermione’s attempts to psychoanalyse him so he feels pretty confident he can ignore Lady Magic herself staring him in the face and trying.

Harry shakes his head. “I thought I did, until last year. Barty was a terrible person but he taught us a lot. I hate people using magic for bad things, but dark magic isn’t that.” He feels his cheeks heat up as soon as he remembers just who he is talking to. “I mean – obviously, you know that. Being Lady Magic. But we hadn’t been taught that before, and I read more on it after that to make sure it was true.”

Lady Magic smiles at him indulgently. “You’re both strange and a pleasure to talk to, Hydrus. It’s not often wixen catch my attention.” He’s not sure if she’s insulting him and he wonders, even more, if he’s caught her attention in a good or bad way. “But to why you’ve called. What do you think your element is, Hydrus?” Lady Magic asks.

He barely needs to consider it. “Fire. I know I accidentally set the house on fire and…I’ve always been kinda better at spells linked to fire anyway. Well, besides warming charms.” He grins sheepishly.

“You are hopeless with them from what I’ve seen.” Lady Magic agrees, “I do worry for you, Hydrus, and this path you’re choosing. I worry what you might do when you get what you’re looking for.” She shakes his head.

Harry looks at the delicate oak table and the winding patterns in the wood. “I just want to talk to her, that’s it. I’ve already come to terms with the fact that, whoever my birth father was, he was a death eater. Or is, I guess.” He insists on it because he’s turned it over a hundred times already and moved on.

“No, you haven’t Hydrus. I suspect you also already know the truth and are doing everything possible to prove you don’t.” Lady Magic counters plainly. Harry decides he really doesn’t like being told off in his own voice – maybe if Hermione polyjuiced herself into him then he would actually listen to her telling him to study. Lady Magic sighs, “Your fathers’ element, by the way, is water. With all the fighting you’re intent on doing then you should start learning to combat it.”

Harry opens his eyes to stare at the ceiling of the sitting room compartment which now has a strangely shaped burn. “If I keep being magically kidnapped, I’m not paying for these attempts at therapy.” It’s like a draft washes over him, cold air brushing against his cheek, but this time Harry knows this isn’t a draft at all.

One visit from Death, one from Lady Magic herself, and Harry wonders if he will get called on by Fate next. He frowns. “Have you all seen a Christmas Carol in that other plane?” He asks loudly and hears the ghost of his own laughter in response. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first spell loosely translates to "My blood holds power and power is in my blood." and the second spell "I offer my lifeblood to magic and ask she show me my strength."
> 
> Beware, Snake boi is arriving next chapter.


	4. Hermione Granger is Terrifying.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort has a new obsession and Harry is here for the cult stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I forgot to mention this but, in case it wasn't obvious, there is a large age gap in this fic. That's kinda a given with Voldemort but Alya was 17 years old when they met and 19 when she had Hydrus. Anyway this chapter also references underage sex, and I think that's the only real warning here. 
> 
> So it's clear here! Hydrus has basically accepted his birth name but, for obvious reasons, no one else has. They probably would if he just told them but identity issues so. But that's why the majority of this chapter refers to him as Harry only to switch to Hydrus when it's only him at the end. 
> 
> I own nothing except from Hydrus and Hermione yelling "What team?" "Wildcats" when she and Ron watch his quidditch practice.

There are things, as loathe as he was to admit it, that even Voldemort didn’t understand about magic. Things like the lightest of pulls on the olde Gaunt family magic that hadn’t been there fourteen years prior and shouldn’t be there now because he is the last living Gaunt.

Voldemort made sure of that.

Something was wrong with the family magic but that wasn’t too pressing an issue because he has a half century of knowledge and vast resources to turn on it. Some force of nature had seen fit to divide his attention all at once because someone was asking about Elementals.

He hadn’t told anyone that he was having that same person loosely tailed across Europe. It was out of curiosity more than anything, he stopped desiring to find people like him years ago, so no one needed to know. Maybe it was one of Dumbledore’s recruits collecting information against him and maybe it was an unsure young Elemental in need of guidance.

Experience has taught Voldemort that if something was wrong then it was usually down to Dumbledore.

The spy closely tracked a path across the magical sites of Italy into Croatia and Montenegro and, admittedly, Voldemort had spent more than a few hours trying to find a pattern.

It was a problem, this curiosity, but it was better to obsess over a new pawn on the chessboard than keep indulging in the exhausting mania that accompanied regaining a body. This was just as all-consuming, even he could admit, but his Death Eaters seemed better for it. Bartemius didn’t twitch so much around him and that alone was an incentive because it was tempting to return the man to the dementors when he got nervous of a Crucio.

The curiosity was so distracting that he barely paid any attention to the fact Potter was somewhere in Britain utterly vulnerable. Voldemort had been, very briefly, disturbed by revelation of the similarity in their upbringings and, despite their position on opposite sides of the board, he had even felt some hint of pity. Only a hint though, when reading over the details of the trial, because this was just another of Dumbledore’s failings and the boy had already chosen his side.

It was a shame regardless. Potter was stronger than he ever assumed for the simple act of not letting himself slip into an Obscurus through his relatives attempts to force the magic out of him, and it was a true shame that Potter would have to die. Merlin knew some of his Death Eaters lacked even half the spine the boy had.

When his new interest goes to _Albania_ in the second week of August, however, Voldemort must get more involved. Albania was one of the few holdouts on the continent that still remembered the olde magics and it’s a country that every dark wixen should try to visit once and he wonders just what his interest wants there.

So, Voldemort decides to take a short trip and have a look himself. Better to find out if they were one of Dumbledore’s recruits to dispatch them quickly, after all. His spies insisted that the stranger didn’t seem to be looking for anything in particular, rarely staying one city for more than a few days, but he also sends one international owl a week like clockwork.

Voldemort drops his blood glamour and, for the first time, appreciates that Wormtail ruined the ritual somehow because if he hadn’t then Voldemort never would have been able to blend in among the general population. The desire to be rid of the part of him still able to feel something akin to love, and to be rid of the face she fell in love with in return, was a ridiculous one really because he’s already above that.

Tom Riddle cast off his humanity before he even turned sixteen and Voldemort doesn’t need help to cast of the scraps that remained.

There’s not much to the area his spies direct him to but there is an inn so Voldemort goes there first to look for anyone who might fit. It takes time, plenty of it, but his eyes finally land on sometime trying far too hard to hide in the crowds.

A hat obscures most of his face but not once does he look away from a small fireplace across the room even when he drinks. Voldemort smirks. A fire Elemental based on the way the flames shape themselves so imperceptibly no one else seems to notice. A boy, he is sure, and probably not all that old if he’s only now asking about their history so almost definitely brand new to the game.

The flames are put out and Voldemort watches the boys confused reaction because, unless he put them out himself, that shouldn’t have happened. Voldemort refuses himself the indulgence, the sheer recklessness, of approaching this new Elemental and just keeps watching instead. The boy all but makes a run for it with little subtlety.

Voldemort waits a few moments more before leaving himself to meet his spy. “Watch him closely from now on. I want to know every stop he makes, every person he talks to, and every question he asks.”

.

“I know you’ve been talking to Harry.” Hermione says flatly.

Sirius chokes on air.

She ignores him completely. “You get an international owl every week. Specifically, every Wednesday.”

“We’re talking to a lawyer about Sirius’s case, so we can overturn it and get custody of Harry when we find him.” Remus says without looking up but his grip on the newspaper is so tight the paper wrinkles.

Hermione sits down with her right eyebrow inching higher every second.

“You’ve got us. Have you told anyone?” Sirius breaks, not at all ashamed to admit the muggleborn teenager scares him, and ignores the naked betrayal on Remus’ face.

“No. Is he okay? I know he told us he was and that he’d be back but we’re so close to term! No one’s even spotted him.” She admits and her voice cracks in a way that makes Sirius wince.

(Had Ron or Harry been there, they both could have told the remaining Marauders that she was simply playing it up to emotionally destroy them.)

Remus sighs, putting his paper down and rubbing his temples. “We’re floo calling him tonight. We’ll make an excuse to take you with us.”

The muggleborn’s smile both lights up the roon and tells them they’ve been scammed.

.

The excuse ends up being remarkably flimsy even for them, claiming that Hermione really needs to call her parents and Grimmauld was too magical for that.

The floo call connects as usual.

“Bloody hell!” Harry cries in fright, as anyone should when faced with an unexpected and angry Hermione Granger.

“She rumbled us pup.” Sirius says solemnly.

Remus immediately refuses the blame. “She rumbled _you_.”

Harry rolls his eyes at the both of them. “How did you two ever get the marauders map done?”

Remus barks a laugh, all involved ignoring the spluttered protests from Sirius. “Your dad kept us on task when he wasn’t busy staring after Lily.” He offers up.

Sirius grumbles louder.

“Harry?” Hermione says unsurely, the first thing she’s been able to say, and Harry takes in her confusion before sprawling to the floor ever so dramatically.

Sirius is a touch proud.

“You didn’t even tell her?” Comes an incredulous cry a moment later but it’s muffled by the fact his face is pressed into hotel carpet.

“We were busy!”

Harry groans wordlessly in response. They may have been forced to miss a decade of annoying their pup but, Sirius is glad to say, they were making up for lost time with these floo calls. Sirius isn’t so glad to see Harry sit up a few seconds later with a grin that was, in his humble opinion, _suspicious_. “I have something cool to try. It’ll be awkward but it should work. Light something on fire and put it in a jar where I can see.”

Remus shrugs and finds a jar, setting it on the coffee table, before conjuring a flame. Sirius watches the floo, waiting for something to happen on the other end, especially when Harry goes oddly still with a flame sitting in his open palm.

“Boo!”

Sirius screams, falling out of his chair, and he’s glad to see Remus looks similarly shocked. Harry bends over, hands on his knees, cackling something fierce and gasping for breath.

“Harry – you little Bastard!” Sirius cries, lying on his back and trying to catch his own breath, but his godson keeps wheezing.

Hermione stands up abruptly and marches right over to Harry before attempting to punch him in the shoulder. Her fist goes right through, but it catches his attention enough to calm down. “Woah! ‘Mione!” He complains, “That would have bruised.”

She tries to hit him again. “You – Harry Potter, what the hell do you think you’re doing! I’ve been worried sick!” Hermione yells, still trying to hit him without success.

The concern in her voice sobers him quickly. “Can you let me explain ‘Mione. Please?” He asks, somehow pulling off the exact same puppy eyes as he had with the glamour. Harry squirms under her glare but, _slowly_ , she stops trying to hit him.

Sirius decides to address the elephant in the room. “How are you doing this pup?”

“I found another book on Elementals in Croatia. There’s this way of – well – projecting you an illusion of yourself, when there was more of us they would each have a representation of their element and of the person they wanted to talk to. Then they would connect the representations and create a shared mental space to talk. I think, anyway, because half of it wasn’t translatable. But I figured I could apply the concept if I could see a flame on this end.” Harry explains brightly, before sighing. “I’ve been on trains non-stop for four days now, so I’ve had a lot of time to read and practice.”

It was very good their pup was finding things that interested him and enjoying learning, but Sirius smirks at Remus. “Oh, Moony, the horror! Our pup’s a nerd now.” Someone, most likely Hermione, kicks his leg and Remus throws something at him. He’s pretty sure he sees the two teens high five, or as close as they can right now.

“I’m portkeying to Turkey tomorrow and I only have a few hours to look at the markets before I have two days of trains through Iraq and Iran. It’s awful! The compartments are tiny.”

Sirius barks a laugh and even Remus joins him. “Or, maybe, you’re just having a growth spurt.” Remus points out, sounding very reasonable probably because Harry had definitely grown a few inches since Gringotts. When Remus had a similar growth spurt in sixth year Lily had described him as a baby giraffe, and Sirius thinks that applies the same to Harry who doesn’t seem to know what to do with his limbs.

“You have gotten a lot taller.” Hermione agrees with a tone so icy that even they wince.

Harry holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I know I should’ve owled you, _but_ we’ve been keeping it secret from everyone. Honest! Otherwise, Dumbledore is going to swoop in and steal me off to some tower.” Harry protests.

Sirius nods gravely, but the effect is somewhat lessoned when he’s still lying on the ground. “It’s been a very careful operation.” He agrees.

Remus breaks solidarity with a pointed snort.

Hermione folds her arms across her chest, trying to make herself seem a bit taller, before sighing. “What is all this, Harry?”

The master of understatement and obliviousness that their pup is, Harry just shrugs. “You know how we went to Gringotts? Well, uh, when we were there it came out my parents will was sealed by the old minister and Dumbledore. I’m adopted, surprise!”

Hermione is very silent.

Remus drops his head into his hands. “Lily and James adopted him from Sirius’s cousin, but they didn’t tell anyone. They had spells on Harry, dangerous ones, like a blood glamour. Hence, _that_.”

Sirius decides to step in and be helpful whilst lifting himself back into his chair. “Alya was scared of his birth dad, we think, because she used spells to hide him.”

Hermione looks between the three of them with wide eyes.

“They copied the glamour onto a ring for me, but stuff like my eyesight got instantly better. In the will they said to remove the spells and that my birth mum would take me in if they died, so I’m trying to find her.” Harry says nonchalantly, gesturing to his own face, and Sirius might have to admit that Remus was right and their pup wasn’t coping well. Harry being this casual about _anything_ was a little bit of a warning sign.

“ _Oh_ , Harry.” Hermione says, voice wavering, and eyes watery.

“It’s all fine, ‘Mione, I’ve sorted all my feelings about it.” Harry denies, seemingly a little worried she might cry. “The Potters are still my mum and dad, and my birth dad is probably a piece of shit Death Eater. Seeing as he must be a water Elemental, I’m working on strategies to beat his ass.”

The boy glares at them when they look at each other with equal scepticism. “Anyway, there’s other stuff too, I guess. Alya named me Hydrus and I’m kind of warming up to it, and my birthday isn’t even the same which I nearly forgot about altogether. But I don’t want the order to know yet because Dumbledore is going to lose it and they’ll start scouting for me across Europe.” No one had the heart to admit just yet that the order probably doesn’t have enough people to do that anyway. “Elementals are dark magic too, and you know how Dumbledore feels about that. Plus, _Ron_.”

Harry and Hermione both share a grimace.

“I know I’ll have to tell everyone eventually, ‘cause this glamour ring only works for a year, but right now it’s really handy no one can recognise me. Voldemort included.” Harry adds even quicker before Hermione can so much as open her mouth.

“Shut up you idiot! Honestly, Harry, I was going to agree with you.” Hermione huffs. Harry stares at her like he’s expecting a trap to spring on him any second. “All this reading…I’ve spent four years telling you to read!” She complains childishly, this being the most pressing issue apparently, and Harry ducks his head like it’ll help hide his grin. “Have you even thought about your school supplies?” She demands suddenly, almost horrified at the idea he wasn’t prepped for term at all.

Remus chuckles. “We’re passing letters to McGonagall for him, actually. Harry’s begging her to let him do the Ancient Runes and Warding OWL’s as a self-study.”

Harry actually jumps away when Hermione shrieks, and Sirius is too amused to remind his godson that he’s not actually there so running away from her does nothing.

“Since when!” Hermione demands, practically vibrating in place.

“‘Mione,” Harry whines. “They’re both really involved with Elementals and I thought they were interesting, so I’ve been reading a lot of NEWT level stuff. McGonagall said I have to take a test at the start of term to prove I’m on par, so if I pass then she’ll let me drop divination for them. She doesn’t believe I’ve been studying for them but wished me good luck.” Hermione bounces on her feet and Harry eyes her warily. “You are not getting me to join any of your other torture lessons.” He tells her flatly.

Sirius doesn’t think the girl cares, but she does smirk. “What’s that on your shoulder, Harry?”

Harry’s eyes widen dramatically but, now she’s brought attention to it, Sirius looks closer at what’s poking out from his godson’s collar. “I gotta go –” Harry claims, voice faint.

“Harry.” Sirius says very slowly, watching his godson freeze in place. “What is on your shoulder?”

The boy in question stares at the jar of flames like he hopes it’ll swallow him up. “I did a stupid thing you won’t approve of.” Harry admits, as if that didn’t describe the vast majority of his adventures. “I was in Croatia and…well…laws are slightly more lax in the magical community there. I was talking – flirting – with this guy and…he dared me to…” He trails off but Sirius waits patiently. “His older brother is a tattoo artist and pretended to believe me when I said I was sixteen and now I have a tattoo.” Harry rushes out in one breath.

Hermione hides her grin behind one hand.

Sirius stares at Remus for help because, really, he’s the sensible adult here and should have advice on how Sirius should react.

Remus shrugs, and his face practically screams ‘ _You’re the one who fought me to be his godfather, this is your job._ ’

“You encouraged me to have fun and make memories!” Harry claims loudly and immediately ducks behind Hermione when Sirius whips his head round to stare at him in disbelief.

“I meant – I didn’t mean get a tattoo!”

The traitor otherwise known as Remus laughs.

“You only just turned fifteen,” Sirius points out, thinking about how Lily was going to destroy him in the afterlife for letting this happen. Then he pauses, his horror and fear for his soul growing. “You hadn’t even turned fifteen when you were Croatia!” He realises, voice rising sharply.

“I was in spirit?” Harry suggests weakly, but he still tries and fails to hide behind the much smaller Hermione.

Sirius slumps into his seat. “Merlin’s balls. You go backpacking through Europe, get a tattoo – next you’re going to have a guitar and get engaged!” He cries and clutches his heart.

Remus turns to Harry very seriously. “Ask him when he got his first tattoo.”

Harry looks to him very expectantly, popping up behind Hermione like a whack-a-mole, and Sirius shakes his head. “No! No, I got mine as part of an old Black tradition. It’s not the same.” He argues.

“I got a map of the constellations of the northern hemisphere.” Harry tells him cheerfully.

Sirius sniffs, raising his nose in the air. “I hope the dog star takes centre place!”

Harry laughs but, since he doesn’t say no, Sirius will take it.

“Are you preparing for OWL’s at all? Between all this…stupid fraternising.” Hermione demands but a smile pulls at her lips anyway.

Forgetting once again that he’s not actually there, Harry attempts to throw an arm around her shoulders. Upon the inevitable failure he settles for just rolling his eyes. “All you’ve done this call is be mean to me, ‘Mione. Really hurts my feelings, I feel positively bullied.”

Hermione tries to hit his shoulder again. “And you would absolutely deserve it. You’re off on this adventure across Europe and you don’t even tell me you’re trying to join my classes.” She shakes her head so hard her hair bounces along.

“Oh, uh, there’s another very bad thing.” Harry adds very suddenly. Remus looks at him cautiously because the ballpark of ‘bad things’ when it came to Harry was the side of the quidditch pitch. “I’m probably, definitely, being followed. That’s why I’m barely stopping at hotels anymore.” He shrugs.

Sirius drops his head into his hands.

“That’s something you lead with Harry!” Hermione beats them to it.

“Well, I think they’ve followed me since Venice, but they got way more overt in Albania, so now I switch trains all the time and spend the journey in my trunk.” Harry explains. Remus pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s not hostile following! They’re not dangerous, but it’s a little weird so I wear a hat and charm my trunk different colours. They lose me all the time too, so they probably won’t catch up with me by the time I reach New Delhi.”

Sirius makes a point of sprawling out over his chair. “I suppose it was too much to ask he be a genius, Moony. Our pup’s clearly just another jock.” He sighs dramatically.

Harry makes a choked off sound of protest. “You don’t even know what a jock is!”

At the same time, Hermione nods vigorously. “You’re absolutely right.” She doesn’t even blink when Harry looks to her in betrayal. “Harry, if you could then you would ask Parvati for help with your Divination homework. That is literally just looking for omens and making dream journals.”

There’s no denying it, Harry outright pouts. “I do other stuff – I didn’t even play quidditch last year!”

Remus nods, almost seeming sympathetic. “That’s because you were illegally entered into a death tournament.”

Hermione giggles.

“You guys are nicer when I floo you!”

.

No one had to tell Harry that his best friend was downright terrifying, he’s known that since he met her really, but she reminds him of this fact once again when she orders him into getting a phone. Harry quickly realises that she expects him to pull the same projection trick regularly using video calls but, grudgingly, he appreciates her constantly texting him.

He’s also absolutely sure that half of the residents of Grimmauld know he’s in contact with the trio because Hermione keeps texting him at all hours of the day.

Their third call takes place on his nine-hour train ride through Pakistan after only the briefest pitstop, and Harry sleepily projects himself like she demands.

“I’m here for the cult stuff.” Harry says, running a hand through his hair, but then nearly jumps out of his skin and is promptly woken up. “Holy shit!” He yelps upon seeing Ron sat on the bed.

Ron scowls at them both but it holds no heat. “Stop using your muggle codes!”

Hermione bursts into laughter. “You look terrible.” She says bluntly.

Harry looks himself over, frowning as he pushes his hair out of his face again because it curls past the nape of his neck now. “It’s nearly midnight and I haven’t slept in a bed for three days.” He points out, just a little offended.

“Nah, mate, she’s right.” Ron puts in and Hermione nods smugly.

“Are you gonna blab to the whole order before term starts? No offence Ron.”

Hermione shrugs, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “He deserved to know. I made him make a magical oath, so he’ll be Slytherin green if he tells anyone.” She explains proudly.

Ron shudders. “For a whole month mate, and with no cure.”

“Wow, smart. So, is this why I’m awake at this fine hour?” He bites out irritably.

Hermione’s face twists into a frown. “You really are tired. Weren’t you stopping for a break after Iran?” She questions.

Ron raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Put that bed to good use?”

Harry rolls his eyes, crossing his arms when Hermione starts giggling at the hickeys on his neck. “Ugh, you’re the worst.” He moans.

“Absolutely.” His best friends agree at once.

“Who was the lucky wizard and what did they think of your new tattoo?” Hermione demands, clearly expecting every little detail.

Ron throws himself face down on the bed. “I can’t believe you’re getting tattoos while we’re cleaning Grimmauld!”

“Trust me, Sirius moaned for _ages_.” Harry shrugs, still finding it a little weird he can’t even sit down like this. “But the lucky fella was just another passer through. Did you know there’s loads of parselmouths in Asia? It’s not considered dark here, ‘cause it’s used in healing, and he was a parselmouth so we got talking about it. Then…well, he gave me details to floo call him if I want.” He explains and ignores the way his cheeks heat up.

Hermione throws a pillow right through him and he stares at his own chest in alarm. “Harry! Useless idiot! This is worse than the Yule ball!” He looks to Ron for help, but the redhead shakes his head too. “He wants you to call him. It’s clearly not a passing through thing to him – tell me you at least remember his name.” Harry awkwardly swipes a hand through his hair.

Another pillow sails through his stomach this time.

“We weren’t doing much talking after that!” He protests.

Ron laughs into the bedsheets.

She keeps glaring between them. “You are such a _boy_ Harry. You’re awful.” She declares.

“Don’t worry, I don’t get it either.” Ron raises his head and gets smacked in the arm for the trouble.

Hermione glares at them for a full minute more before they all dissolve into laughter. “When do you think you’ll find her?” She asks when they all sober, voice quiet.

Harry gnaws at his lip and wishes they could go back to talking about boys. “I’ll be in New Delhi soon and someone there should be able to point me her way. So, either I have no time at all, or I miss the first week of term, I guess. It’s…it’ll depend on if she wants to talk to me.” He admits because, funnily enough, when you’re trapped on trains you start to think obsessively.

“You said she was happy to take you in, of course she’s going to speak to you.” Hermione points out gently and Ron gestures to her in agreement.

He really wishes he could sit down. “That’s the thing – what if it was just obligation? She was the last resort, bottom of the list, so what if she only said that because she didn’t think it’d ever happen?” Harry takes a deep breath, shaking his head, not quite able to stop himself talking. “I’ve been thinking about it, see, since all I can do is think. And Alya was young – she was maybe eighteen? And it’s more than likely whoever my father is, he’s a Death Eater. Or a supporter at least. So maybe she wants to forget that and…”

Ron’s eyes are like dinner plates and Harry trails off. “You didn’t tell him that bit?” He guesses quietly.

Hermione nods. “It didn’t feel like my place.”

He turns back to Ron. “You think you birth dad is…” The redhead whispers.

Harry shrugs. “She was scared of him, I think. Scared he would come find me or her, at least, and she even put spells on me to block my magic. Who would scare her that much during the war? He must be.” He forces himself to forget the worst option again. “Whoever the piece of shit is, I don’t want to know. I’ll find out when he tries to drown me or something.” He scoffs.

“Elementals are blood inherited. It means his birth dad must be a water one if Harry’s fire.” Hermione explains, passing on the simplified version he gave her because he thinks even his friends might struggle with the idea he talked to Lady Magic.

Ron, very slowly, nods. “Well, we should start practicing how you’re going to punch your father.” His friend offers weakly but it’s good enough for Harry to grin at him. “Don’t worry, I’ve been studying ways to overpower him elementally. We’re gonna kick ass.”

Ron grins back and Hermione mutters some complaints about their emotional range as usual.

“What are you doing in here –”

Harry ends the projection before Molly Weasley can even get the door open.

.

Hydrus arrives in New Delhi absolutely exhausted but full of so much anxious energy he couldn’t even try to sleep. At least Ron’s attempts to understand Hermione’s phone helped distract him for a while. He goes straight to the magical district and looks for signs that might indicate anyone who’s been here for a while. Hydrus finds a pet shop.

‘ _Do you have a parselmouth?_ ’ He hisses to a man behind the counter and the old man yells something he can’t even attempt to understand. A young man, probably around Bill’s age, runs out from the back of the shop and, if he wasn’t so tired, he might have cared more about the state he looked in front of a decently attractive stranger. ‘ _I only speak English, sorry._ ’

The stranger smiles toothily at him. ‘ _We don’t get many tourists. How can we help you?_ ’ The stranger asks.

Hydrus bites his tongue and tries to figure out what to say. ‘ _I’m trying to find a member of the Black family. Your shops been here a long time – I can play you for any help._ ’

The other parselmouth pauses, looking to the old man and talking to him for a moment. ‘ _Why do you want to find them?_ ’ He asks suspiciously, and Hydrus thinks that’s fair, he would hope people in Diagon Alley wouldn’t just hand over information about him.

(Hydrus, unfortunately, knows most of them would do exactly that.)

He holds up his hand bearing his heirship rings. ‘ _I don’t mean no harm. I’m looking for family._ ’

Both men look at the rings closely and talk quietly. ‘ _Which Black are you looking for?_ ’

Hydrus pulls his hand back and lets out a sigh of relief. ‘ _Alya Black. She must be in her thirties by now, I’m not really sure what she looks like._ ’ He admits, a little nervous, but they don’t question it.

The old man keeps looking him over and Hydrus tries not to seem too nervous. ‘ _She moved down to Surat now. There’s an all-magic area, Ditari, down there._ ’ Hydrus offers a handful of galleons, leaving them on the counter and nodding his thanks, in his hurry to go book a train.

.

“My lord.” His spy bows.

Voldemort barely looks at him. “I assume you finally have news of the boy now he’s stopped tricking you?” He questions, rather enjoying the way the man cowers before him. Maybe if he hadn’t been continuously outsmarted then Voldemort might have more patience for him.

The spy flinches. “You…you asked me to tell you if he was asking about anything and – he arrived in New Delhi this afternoon.” The man stumbles over his own words, stuttering, eyes cast down. “He speaks parseltongue, my lord. He was asking a shopkeeper about someone called Alya Black and they directed him to Surat –”

He doesn’t finish, brought to his knees by a merciless _Crucio_. Voldemort ignores the way the man writhes and spills his own blood at his feet because all of it is unimportant.

Except that name.

That name makes his blood run as cold as the rest of him.

Voldemort thinks about the pull on the family magic, and about the new Elemental who was somehow also a parselmouth.

He thinks about Alya Black.

It fits together perfectly.

He makes his own way to Surat, most likely hours ahead of the boy, and now that he understands it he reverses the pull on the family magic to follow it to the source. Voldemort hides himself from sight completely, finds the residence of Miss Black by himself, and waits because her wards won’t let him in, and she would never welcome him inside.

Voldemort waits and he watches the boy approach in the same way he watched him walk in circles from the train station, and he even watches the boy hesitate before knocking.

Alya is obscured, partially, but he knows she’s still as beautiful as she was back then. He could never hate himself, but he does hate the fact he could still appreciate her beauty even now he knows what she’s done.

“Hi – uh – I’m sorry for – for showing up like this. It’s just…I think I’m –” The boy blurts out in a voice that’s strangely familiar.

“Hydrus.” Alya cuts in, one hand reaching up to touch the boy’s face, “You need to come inside, quickly.”

 _Too late_ , Voldemort thinks viciously, too late because you’ve already been found. Voldemort has already lain his own spells on the boy, and he’ll even claim him soon enough, and there’s no escape this time.

No escape, no lies, no running away.

(Hydrus, he supposes, is as good a name as any for his heir.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione definitely started texting Hydrus at the kitchen table. Dumbledore asked her if she was talking to him and Hermione looked Dumbledore in the eyes and said Hydrus doesn't own a phone. McGonagall is also lying to his face as she hands Sirius a letter for Hydrus right in front of him.
> 
> Anyway next time we're learning the pros and cons of kidnapping your own child.


	5. Voldemort is in need of a therapist.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Step one to reuniting your family: don't use all three unforgivable's on your son.  
> If you failed step one, resort to kidnapping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I have much to say. Quicker update than usual because I took a rona test today and I needed serotonin and this is my serotonin quick fix. If you see any spelling mistakes please feel free to drag me. 
> 
> I do not THINK this chapter has any warnings? There's a hint of like. death. and that's it. I own nothing but Alya and Hydrus naturally being an iconic mother-son duo. Also, like you may guess, no beta.

The house is nice. Simple, a little big for only one person, but far more welcoming than Privet Drive. Not welcoming enough to get rid of the lump in Hydrus’ throat or to help him relax because getting past the first hurdle, being invited in, didn’t mean anything. Maybe Alya just didn’t want anyone to see him on her doorstep. It means nothing that she tells him to leave his trunk by the door and leads him into a sitting room and gestures for him to sit on an elegant couch because she might just be letting him down easy.

Alya Black is beautiful but that’s not a surprise, Hydrus imagined her that way anyway. Her face is a soft heart, a little rounder than his, and her long hair is a warm brown. She has the same silver eyes as Sirius, but she has the same dark skin and broad nose as him. There’s also something hard about her, almost intimidating, but her eyes are too soft for him to take much notice.

“I’m sorry,” Hydrus blurts out. “I – I don’t know why I –” He shakes his head, wishing he could get a complete sentence out, but any plan for when he found her flew out of his mind as soon as he got off the train.

Her hand rests on his cheek again with a featherlight touch. “I assumed you didn’t want anything to do with me.” Alya says, lips quirking up, and eyes never leaving his face.

Hydrus is confused for just a moment before his mouth turns dry. “No! The – I didn’t know about you, not until a few weeks ago. Their will was sealed by…it was a mess but the glamour and everything never got taken off and they never had time to tell anyone before it was too late.” His scar burns and he hopes she puts his wince down to anything else.

It’s a little too early to tell Alya that a lunatic kidnapped him at the end of the school year, stole his blood, and since then his scar hurts at random. Hydrus is pretty sure it’s somehow down to Voldemort, so he pushes through it because it was just like that bastard to try and ruin anything important to him.

“Me and Sirius went to Gringotts for an heir ring – well, he surprised me with a blood adoption too ‘cause he’s an idiot – and the goblins nearly threw a fit when I did the blood test.” He laughs weakly.

Alya’s face twists, something dark in her eyes. “Sirius?” She repeats, with a hint of venom.

Hydrus realises his mistake immediately. “No – No, Sirius is good. He’s really good. Honestly! It wasn’t him. He got set up by their friend – Pettigrew – and I met the rat, but Sirius is good. Really good. A child but good. He was too scared to write to you in case you turned him in” He rushes out because Sirius might be a continent away but, looking at her, he thinks Alya might be able to hurt his godfather anyway.

It takes a few seconds for Alya to laugh, head turned down and the sound breathless. “Sirius was always a child. I should have known he wouldn’t betray his friends.” She shakes her head before taking his hand in both of hers. “It never should have been kept from you for so long. It wasn’t the plan, Lily and James just promised to keep it a secret until you were older. Until you could understand. And I tried to come back after they died but no one would tell me anything so I had to assume you were with one of their friends…I thought that you must think I abandoned you when the years went by.”

He bites his tongue and reminds himself about Hermione’s favourite mantra (‘ _Oh, Harry, do you ever think before you speak?_ ’) because he’s spent at least a week convinced Alya didn’t want him. But that’s not the same as thinking he was abandoned, he’s pretty sure, so he’s never assumed that. “…They said you were scared in the will. Scared of…of whoever he is, and I got that it was bigger than that. And, even if you had, it was with two people who gave their lives for me, so it wasn’t like I was just dumped.”

Hydrus is very sure he’s not said the right thing and that, regardless of the time or where she is, Hermione is complaining about his emotional range. She always had a sixth sense for when he and Ron did something she wouldn’t approve of.

Despite the fact he’s definitely put his foot in his mouth, Alya squeezes his hand gently. “That’s kind of you to say, Hydrus…Sorry, I didn’t even think to ask. Which do you prefer – Hydrus or Harry?” There is a frown on her lips that doesn’t look accustomed to her face.

“Hydrus is growing on me a bit. A lot. It’s all I’ve really been using for the last month.” He admits with a sheepish grin. “I’m kind of on the run from Dumbledore, since he helped seal the will and…I can’t trust him, so Sirius and Remus have been pretending to not know where I am. They supposedly get letters from a judicial wizard every Wednesday and have to privately floo him the next day most weeks. Dumbledore probably knows they’re lying but he can’t say that, so Sirius is having the time of his life.”

He laughs, unable to help himself, thinking about how much better Sirius seemed during their floo calls. “Worst thing is my friend Hermione, who’s not much more than five foot and maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, cornered Sirius and made him fold in about two seconds flat. She’s absolutely brilliant but terrifying. She also immediately told our friend Ron, so now Order of Merlin holder Dumbledore is being outsmarted by three and a half kids and one adult.” Hydrus adds, and then wonders if Remus could actually be firmly placed in the adult camp. He mentally revises it to four kids and one adult, with Sirius and Remus forming one child and McGonagall being the only adult for her help.

Alya smiles back even though she probably doesn’t understand much at all. “I…I delayed on the way here, I guess. I know…well I, figured, that whoever he was must have been terrible. Or a Death Eater. Or both. Hermione kept telling me to take my head outta my ass.” Hydrus admits then, voice quiet with his own nerves.

She chuckles, one of her hands leaving his just to swipe at the hair falling in his face. “Your Hermione has a special way with words, but she was right.” Alya tells him plainly.

Hydrus snorts. “She’s not _my_ Hermione – she’s like an annoying sister. She dragged me to the library by my ear once and glared at me until I did my charms essay, but she decided she hated it so tried to throw it at my head. I have better reflexes, so I threw it back and we nearly got banned from the library. But she’s not _my_ Hermione, I honestly think she’d kill me on the spot if she heard me say she was.” He protests partly because, at the very least, she would probably hex him and throw him to the mercies of the Slytherins.

But mostly because this isn’t the first time someone’s made Hermione and him sound romantic. It’s a little offensive, he thinks, because no one has ever said the same about his friendship with Ron despite the fact Hydrus had thoroughly embarrassed himself by staring after Cedric for most of the year.

“Of course not, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t yours. You’re probably hers in much the same way.” Alya tells him, sounding vaguely amused, but he still flushes. She must take pity on him, shaking her head, before changing the subject. “The matter of your father is…complicated. I didn’t believe Aunt Dorea that so many Death Eaters resided across Britain in the open. I courted a very interesting man and he even proposed marriage but then I finally realised what he was. A high-ranking Death Eater, certainly, but he didn’t have a mark, so it took me time to connect his disappearances with attacks. I also realised I was pregnant and decided to leave.”

Its okay, Hydrus reminds himself, this is just confirming what he already knew.

“But I was never afraid for my safety, and not for yours either. He was a powerful man with powerful friends and dangerous opinions. He fancied himself a revolutionary, I always thought. If he knew about you then I’m sure he would have wanted to take you and…and I couldn’t let you be raised in that world. A world of blood supremacy and hatred of muggles.” Alya continues, voice firm yet strangely nostalgic. “I think Lily guessed more than I ever told her because she helped work out the spells we would need, and I knew that if I stayed with you in Britain then he would find us. If I brought you here, then the news would travel, and he was too smart to not make a connection. He was little like a dog with a bone, you see. Lily and James still hadn’t broken the news of their miscarriage and they volunteered themselves to help me in any way they could. I’ve never met kinder souls.”

Hydrus isn’t sure how she can talk so fondly of a Death Eater and maybe it shows on his face because she sighs and rests a hand on his cheek again. “I did love him, regardless of everything else. I think, in his own strange way, he even loved me. Like I said, he was an interesting man, but he was terribly strange too. But loving someone does not mean you love what they do, as much as I did love him, I couldn’t stand by him. Love doesn’t mean acceptance or forgiveness, Hydrus.” She tells him, voice ever so soft.

He bites his lip. He wouldn’t know because the list of people he loved was a foot long, if that, and none of them had done anything so serious it was hard to forgive. Hydrus never loved the Dursley’s, not even in his earliest memories, and while he once thought Dumbledore cared for him it never meant he loved the old man. His friends had never hurt him terribly, even if Ron had been a prat last year. Well…maybe Hagrid. He loved the man like family despite the giant’s ignorance to his situation.

“No more of that,” Alya tuts. “Tell me about yourself and about these friends of yours.”

So, they talk. Hydrus doesn’t know for how long, but it feels like a weight has been taken off of his chest as he tells her about his friends, and she tells him about her family but always makes sure to remind him that they are his family too.

The door knocks and startles them out of their conversation.

“Were you followed?” Alya asks, head darting up to look to the doorway and the front door past it.

Hydrus shakes his head a little too quickly because it makes him dizzy against the pain in his scar. “I changed trains twice and I looped at least five streets to catch anyone.” He felt a little paranoid in the process, but Remus and Hermione had put their heads together and forced some simple survival instincts into him.

“I have someone who comes by with potion ingredients once a week.” She tells him with a sigh, maybe feeling as paranoid as he did. “Mr Kohli?” Alya calls.

There’s a moment of silence. “Yes, Miss Black?” Comes a faint reply, probably muffled by the door, and Alya sags in relief.

“Come in, you worried me.” She rises, shaking her head, going to greet Mr Kohli but stops still in the doorway. “Hydrus, run.” She stands in front of him, just enough to try and block the door.

Hydrus sees anyway and he sees why she wants him to run when a body drops to the floor. He knows how dead bodies look now, and even if he hadn’t then the growing pool of blood would have been a big enough hint. He draws his wand.

“Now, now, I was simply feeling left out.” Hydrus watches the man that walks in, seeming awfully familiar, and then he sees crimson red eyes and he knows. He should have known immediately because Tom Riddle hadn’t changed much with age even if he looked like a monster from a child’s nightmare only a few months ago.

“Hydrus, you need to run.” Alya grits out, stood stock still, but Hydrus thinks about a dark graveyard and the cooling body of his schoolmate and red eyes ordering him to beg for death under a crucio that made him shake for days.

Hydrus pushes forward, his wand raised, refusing to back down this time when he can feel the fire under his skin. Not again, he’s not leaving her to die, not when it was his fault this monster was here. “No.” He shakes his head because no one else was going to recognise Voldemort like this, “You need to go. That’s Voldemort.”

Alya inhales sharply. “Marvolo?” She says, and Hydrus snaps his head around to look at her.

Voldemort chuckles, but Hydrus ignores him. Lady Magic was right, he’s known the truth from the moment he looked in the mirror, but he still tries to deny it because otherwise he might just be sick.

“I thought this was a family reunion. Did my invitation get lost?” Hydrus shoots balls of fire at him rapidly but Voldemort raises an almost lazy shield to deflect them. “I think you’re overdue for a timeout.” Voldemort shakes his head and Hydrus can’t deflect the bolt of magic that hits him and sends him flying back.

.

Voldemort’s magic could conjure up a storm and he’s tempted to let his control slip and allow it. The final piece of a puzzle that hadn’t quite made sense otherwise and he doesn’t know why he’s surprised because everything always connected to Potter somehow.

The pull on the family magic had only come after Potter went missing, and no one had seen the boy at all. But, even more so, the way the ritual went wrong. Voldemort had blamed Wormtail, an accusation he still feels is somewhat fair, but it hadn’t gone wrong really. The plan to make his glamour permanent had failed and Potter’s blood had been the only true variable. Voldemort had returned in his glamour from that night in Godric’s Hollow but with his true face and body intact.

The ritual changed because instead of the blood of the enemy, it took the blood of his heir. Bone of the father and blood of the son had combined.

The spells that would allow him to track the boy no matter where he went, that would let him get past Alya’s wards and listen to them so she couldn’t lie to him again, barely remain in place because his fury is so volatile it’s hard to keep his focus. Blood roars in his ears and he can barely hear the soft tones of Alya’s voice and the lower sound of Potter.

It might speak of his mental state, too, that he hardly cares about the divide between Potter and Dumbledore or the way Alya speaks of him so gently. She has no right to, not after the way she abandoned him in the night like he hadn’t offered her his ruined heart.

His razor-sharp mind turns over the events of a decade and change ago from every angle because he doesn’t understand how he missed it. He thinks of the way Alya seemed so delicate in those last few days before her quiet joy turned to ash when he left for that last raid.

If he hadn’t gone, would she have told him then?

Instead, she left him a letter and her ring, taking hardly anything with her besides the ruins of his heart. It had taken her a year more to return to India and he had never been sure of what kept her, even if some nights he hoped she might be thinking of returning to him, but instead she was hiding a child.

( _His_ child.)

Then on that doomed night at Godric’s Hollow…no matter what side they were on, everyone seemed to agree Lily Evans’ had a sharp mind and unrivalled talent. Voldemort finally understands what they all meant. The muggleborn had worked it out herself, somehow, or something very close to the truth because she had tried to tell him. Lily Evans refused to move aside and instead told him he was wrong, her voice unwavering, and that he couldn’t kill this child.

Voldemort had killed her before she wasted his time again, but maybe if he had employed his dearly valued patience then this all could have been different. A decade not lost as a wraith, his heir not under the thumb of his oldest enemy.

Someone approaches the door and, for once not happy to be alone with his thoughts, Voldemort seizes an opportunity. The opportunity being taking the old man hostage to gain entry past the wards and killing the old man simply because he should get his violent impulses out of the way now. Killing Kohli sates him just enough that he does little more than stun Hydrus despite the boy attacking him unprovoked.

Alya glares at him all the same but, seeing as he has the upper hand here, she reluctantly sits down. She also refuses to speak to him, settling for trying to set him on fire with her will and ire after he confiscates all wands present, and Voldemort picks out a pleasant enough armchair to wait in.

Hydrus grimaces as he opens his eyes, but Voldemort remains silent to allow him to come back in his own time. He can only imagine how much time the boy spent trying to deny their likeness because Hydrus resembles him almost uncannily. If Voldemort only saw his face properly in Albania then he would have known instantly the boy was his blood.

Absently, he wonders if Hydrus knows his left eye becomes a more vivid red when he gets angry because burgundy had flared into blood red when the boy saw him. No wonder no one considered he might be Harry Potter when Hydrus had taken to the Riddle features so dramatically. It’s his skin and nose only that come from Alya. Maybe his mouth too, but it was hard to tell on a sharp face.

That scar on the face of Harry Potter took over, becoming the first feature you noticed, but it refines Hydrus instead. He’s jumped in height too, too fast to be natural in such a short space of time, but that will be removing whatever spells they used to hide him.

Voldemort crosses one leg at the knee, jaw in hand, glancing over at Alya who only stops glaring at him every now and again to check on Hydrus. “This all would have been easier if you hadn’t tried to deceive me, my dearest.” He points out.

Alya sneers at him. “Try? It’s been sixteen years Marvolo, I did deceive you. You got lucky.”

Damn her, she was right. “And you will be punished accordingly.” He replies with a flash of teeth.

“Don’t you dare touch her!” Hydrus spits but Voldemort is sure he’s just mad that he can’t escape the chair he’s magically bound to.

“Do I need to put you back in timeout? I do have years of parental discipline to catch up on.” He looks back to the boy and ignores the noise of disgust Alya makes.

It’s not Voldemort’s fault that she ever assumed he was better than he is. Maybe he wouldn’t have harmed her or Hydrus back then, but that was before they both found ways to wrong him. He’s not got so much mercy these days.

Hydrus glares at him. “Oh, you’ve done plenty of that or is a crucio not good enough?” The boy sneers and his left eye is as bright a red as Voldemort’s.

“Crucio’s are for special occasions.” He replies easily.

“Leave him alone, Marvolo.” Alya snaps, bolting up with narrowed eyes. It’s almost touching that the two keep volleying his attention and ire between them. “I thought you couldn’t be any lower, finally knowing who you are, but to torture your own blood even now you know?”

Voldemort raises an eyebrow. “Who said I’m torturing the boy?” He asks and ignores the way Hydrus laughs unkindly. “This changes quite a bit, obviously. I wanted you dead because of a prophecy Dumbledore claimed would defeat me, but that was about a boy born in July. His prophecy may as well be void now since we’ve effectively gutted it.” Interestingly, Hydrus looks more shocked at this than finding out they’re related. “No, this is simply because I’m very much aware he’s as insolent as he is reckless and may set the house aflame to spite me.” He waves his hand dismissively.

The look on Hydrus’ face proves him right. “That implies being a mass murdering psycho deserves any respect.”

He looks to Alya.

“You walked in here after murdering a local potions master. He hit the nail on the head.” Alya says simply.

There’s a smug tilt to Hydrus’ lips.

“Go fetch your things dearest.” He orders rather than attempting to fight this battle. Alya doesn’t move. “We can’t stay here forever, especially now that poor Mr Kohli was murdered on your doorstep. Thankfully, I have more than enough space at Riddle manor.”

Hydrus laughs again. “There are not enough words in any language to describe just how much you need a therapist.”

Voldemort elects to ignore that altogether. “Hurry now. You won’t need much; I’ll send for anything you find lacking.” He urges.

Alya clenches her jaw. “What do you think will happen, Marvolo? Are you going to lock us in your manor under guard? Trap us there just to punish us? How long will that last when Hydrus’s friends realise he has not checked in?” She’s vicious, silver eyes alight, fiery in the way that drew him to her when they first met.

Hydrus’s eyes widen at the very possibility.

“Am I meant to allow my heir to just run free now?” No, he can’t let either of them remain free to oppose him. He can’t let his heir run back to the order and whatever fate would wait there. “We are simply overdue for some family time. You’ll both have watchers, of course, because I simply cannot trust you to not run away. The Malfoy boy spends enough time around the manor these days, I imagine he could watch Hydrus.”

Hydrus pulls quite the face at the very idea of being forced to spend time with the Malfoy heir. “I’m sure he’ll feel similarly about the prospect of spending your time together.” Voldemort smirks, finding a little joy at the very idea of putting the two in a room and seeing what happened.

Lucius probably wouldn’t be too happy about it but that hardly matters.

“I don’t think your little minion would like it when his son doesn’t walk back out at the end of the day.” Hydrus snaps.

Voldemort chuckles at the sad attempt to sound threatening because it resembles Nagini when she was too small to eat someone whole yet made that threat anyway. They can work on that later. “I, of course, encourage casual homicide but do leave my followers children alone, Hydrus.” The boy flinches. “You can’t deny you’ve accepted the name when you’ve already told your mother she can use it.” He argues.

Mother and son both wear identical scowls. “She didn’t hit me with an Avada Kedavra to the face as a baby.”

Voldemort waves it off. “A case of mistaken identity. Ancient history now.”

He pointedly ignores the way Hydrus looks at him like he’s grown another head. “You crucio’d me for, say, five minutes give or take and tried to kill me two months ago. You did kill my…Cedric.”

Alya looks at him with raised eyebrows and a more than a hint of murder in her eyes. “If I had my wand,” She murmurs, and it wouldn’t surprise him if she could destroy this body with her anger alone.

He bares gleaming teeth. “Ah, but you don’t. You’ll both get your wands back once you prove you can be trusted.” He can almost hear the way the boy’s teeth grind, eyes not just rebellious but with the same murderous light as Alya. There was hope for his heir yet. “Now fetch your things, dearest.”

This time, possibly just to escape his presence for the moment, she leaves. Voldemort waits to hear her steps upstairs.

“The Prophet,” He begins, inspecting the sitting room once again. “Would love this. Your other name has rarely left their pages this last month.”

Hydrus looks at him, strangely absent of rage, before scoffing. “Oh, please. We both know neither of us are going to announce any of this. With all your grandstanding to your minions, you won’t even tell them you’re a half-blood, let alone announce this.”

All amusement bleeds away, leaving only the cold and the anger Voldemort was forged in. “How do _you_ know that.” He hisses.

Hydrus grins, as defiant as it is vicious. “Malfoy senior slipped your little journal of teenage angst bullshit into my friend’s little sister’s books second year. Didn’t he share that his plan to kill an eleven-year-old and some muggleborns failed spectacularly?”

Voldemort truly hopes that Lucius is finding out just how much pain his mark can cause right now.

Hydrus, rather like a shark scenting blood in the water, must discern his rage because he grins even wider. “You can guess who stopped it. Out of five direct attempts on my life, you are zero for five. I, however, am three for four on halting your nefarious plans.”

He glares at his utterly frustrating heir but also, absently, considers that the boy would work well if he turned that spite on Dumbledore instead. Mostly, Voldemort focuses on reaching out soul deep. He searches for the part of his soul held in the diary, for the pain that would signal its loss or the distant warmth that meant it was still there.

It’s not gone, despite what the boy seems to think, but it also feels loose. Unanchored. _Close_.

Voldemort puts on a disdainful sneer and looks at Hydrus again. “Do share how you, all of twelve years old and without your full magic, stopped his plan.”

At least Hydrus has the sense to look suspicious of his motives but, as Voldemort wagered, the spite and desire to piss him off wins out. Voldemort supposes he had been equally spiteful in his youth.

“While everyone was spending all year accusing _me_ of being an attempted serial killer and the Heir of Slytherin –” Hydrus cuts himself off with the horrified realisation they hadn’t been completely wrong. “– Your bloody diary was possessing Ginny and no one was looking at her. It didn’t help that when she tried to throw it away, I found it which – y’know, you were less psychopathic then – meant the attacks very briefly stopped just as I was under increased watch. She stole it back and got walked down to the chamber to die, so me and Ron followed.”

Voldemort wonders if Hydrus ever actually studies during the school year. “Naturally.” He says instead of voicing this thought.

Hydrus grimaces before continuing. “But then we’d taken Gilderoy Lockhart with us ‘cause he was the most useless DADA teacher in history, and you had Quirrell stuttering over the same word for five minutes a lesson in first year. ‘Mione’s still furious about that since she had to self-teach.”

The mudblood again. He’d have to work on separating them because Hydrus was far too affectionate towards her. “Pass on my sincerest apologies,” Voldemort drawls, a touch impatient.

“But he gave us pop quizzes on his favourite colour and winning smile and claimed he could kill the monster single handed and find the chamber. We went to help since we already found the chamber with Myrtles help, but he was packing to leave so we decided to take him with us. To throw in front of the Basilisk mainly, which is a long way of saying he tried to obliviate us with Ron’s wand. But Ron’s wand broke when we crashed the car into the Whomping Willow and it tried to kill us, so the spell backfired and brought part of the ceiling down and meant I had to go on alone.”

Voldemort asks Lady Magic for patience because Hydrus has spent more time complaining about Lockhart than explaining how he crashed a car into the old tree.

Hydrus shakes his head and Voldemort wonders if this is some elaborate reversed torture. “Oh, the car. The Malfoy’s house elf, Dobby, had been trying to secretly save me all summer but he got closer to killing me than you ever have. He spelled a bludger to attack me in quidditch and broke my arm. But he also spelled the barrier shut on me and Ron so we couldn’t catch the train but the Weasley’s had an enchanted flying car. Ron and his brothers used it to come get me in the summer when Vernon put bars on my window and like seven locks on the door, so we figured we had enough experience to drive to school.”

He’s not sure which part he wants to address first, if any, because stealing a car is a little too much of an overreaction for him to understand.

“We figured it out too. I mean, we nearly got hit by the train and like twenty muggles saw us before we got the invisibility charm working. But then we crashed it into the Whomping Willow and Snape wanted to do us a violence right there since he’s an ass. Pretty sure the cars still in the forest too, it gained sentience somehow since it came and rescued us when we nearly got eaten by Aragog. The acromantula _you_ let off into the forest.”

Voldemort runs through the facts again but still comes up on short because what was anyone meant to say? He’s almost certain Hydrus has never studied a day in his life.

“Long story short, I managed to trick Malfoy into freeing Dobby, which was really good work on my part. Flash of genius, absolute brilliance. Then he tried to expire me right outside the headmaster’s office, so I really don’t know why you keep him around.” Hydrus adds cheekily.

He sighs. “Neither do I.”

Hydrus snorts. “I forgot about the chamber.” Voldemort, too, had forgotten about the chamber somewhere along the way. “Well, I found Ginny having her lifeforce drained and then your ghost-diary-thing monologued about getting Dumbledore out of the castle and killing muggleborns and showed off plenty ‘cause some things clearly never change. Then he ordered the Basilisk to kill me since I must have pissed him off enough. Seeing as the Basilisk wouldn’t listen to me, Fawkes came with the sorting hat and blinded it. About half an hour of running around the pipes later I pulled the Sword of Gryffindor out of the hat and killed it.”

Voldemort rests his jaw in his hand again, equally as disturbed by the fact his heir pulled out the bloody Sword of Gryffindor as he is by the news the Basilisk was dead.

“I also got bit though, so I have a pretty big scar where the fang was lodged in my damn arm. I figured it would be a shame to go out alone and stabbed your evil diary with it, so your sixteen-year-old ghost died begging for mercy from a twelve-year-old. Then Fawkes cried on my arm, and it all gives me enough of a kick to remember that it could probably fuel its own patronus.”

He grinds his teeth and plans all manner of suffering upon Lucius Malfoy, because Basilisk venom certainly could have destroyed the horcrux. Also, because he can’t use direct that same suffering on his heir. Voldemort can still feel that horcrux, however, alive but weak, and if the diary was gone then there must have been another container nearby. The diadem was too far, he’s sure.

Voldemort narrows his eyes at Hydrus and plunges into his mind.

How foolish of Dumbledore to never teach the boy occlumency. He takes more care than he usually would simply for the fact this is his heir, but it’s still too easy for him to slip in. The memory of the chamber is easy to find due to their conversation bringing it to the forefront of his mind, and Voldemort catches something Hydrus was ignorant to.

His diary hadn’t wanted the boy dead. The diary wanted him distracted and out of the way but not dead, chased away long enough for the girl to be drained. It couldn’t have known who Hydrus was but…something Hydrus hadn’t noticed when he was busy vindictively tearing at the diary was how the light had fled into him.

Voldemort searches deeper, not for memories, and he finds a piece of his very being. That night in Godric’s Hollow he had accidentally created a horcrux, a piece of his soul tearing free and grabbing onto his blood and the traces of familiar magic. Lily Evans’ protection kept that soul shard separate, having little more than a bleed through on the boy, but the Goblins accidentally stripped that away judging by how the shard has sown itself into the boy.

Someone else might have been taken over or torn apart, but their shared blood offered a modicum of protection. The diary must have recognised the connection when it pulled Hydrus in and grabbed onto the other horcrux like a life raft before it could be destroyed.

Voldemort pulls out of the boy’s mind, marvelling at the first human horcrux in history, but more importantly it all makes sense. He had thought, on more than one occasion, that the wizarding world’s protection of their saviour was abysmal. He wondered how the boy could simply go missing, and how he had ever been left to live like that, and why the boy had never been trained to survive.

That’s just it, he knows now, Dumbledore didn’t want the boy to survive. Hydrus had been steered to die by Voldemort’s hand, a lamb to the slaughter, and an ironic defeat.

He’ll need to gather the rest of his horcruxes now, if Dumbledore knows about them, and maybe this revelation would be the final straw to turn Hydrus on the old man completely. But he can’t trust his heir to know about horcruxes when he might run into death out of foolish spite.

Hydrus eyes him cautiously in his silence so Voldemort bares too white teeth. “I would wager you didn’t find that diary by accident. You probably felt the familiarity of the magic. Even with magical blocks, direct contact with family magic is different.” He remarks, as if that were what he was thinking of all along, and the boy pulls a face. “Thankfully, despite your Gryffindor posturing, there are Basilisk eggs hidden in the chamber under stasis. It will take time, but _our_ ancestors wish for the chamber to hold a Basilisk will be restored. Although I don’t know how a descendent of Slytherin was put into Gryffindor.” He shakes his head with the smallest of shudders.

“I yelled at the hat until it put me there.” Hydrus responds dryly.

Voldemort understands very suddenly why Severus found the boy so exhausting. “You ordered the hat to put you in Gryffindor?” He says slowly.

Hydrus nods cheerily. “Well, I yelled at it not to put me in Slytherin. It went with it is second choice. Its not my biggest fan since I’ve refused to listen to it twice.”

Voldemort doesn’t say it, but he immediately makes plans on how to correct that if Hydrus was ever to return to Hogwarts.

“I suppose it’s a good thing that you are both not actively cursing each other.” Alya comments, pulling a trunk behind her.

He rises, crossing over to her quickly. “Allow me.” He offers.

Alya glares at him and grips the handle so tightly her knuckles pale. “Don’t pretend to have manners when this is a hostage situation Marvolo.” She snaps at him.

He steps back to give her some space. “It wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t decided I couldn’t be trusted with my own flesh and blood.” He counters, voice low, and thankfully Hydrus chooses not to speak because he might not have controlled himself.

(In the past few hours, Voldemort has not truly considered how he feels about being a father. He was never parent material but especially not _now_ and it had never been a part of his plan to pass on his genes. Maybe if Alya had told him then he would have been happy and maybe he would have led raids for a week. But now he’s locked into a war with his son known to the world by another name, and he can only seem to refer to Hydrus as his heir because he’s sure fathers and sons were meant to feel differently about each other.)

(Voldemort doesn’t know how to be a father but he thinks Hydrus doesn’t know what it’s like to be a son either.)

“Then tell me, Marvolo, what would you have done if I did? Would you have groomed him to be your successor, raised on the hatred of muggles, unable to live a normal life?” Alya challenges, chin raised, venom dripping from every word. “Would he have been able to live any kind of life for fear of all your enemies? Be honest, would you have been raising a child or a soldier?”

The urge to reach out and wrap a hand around her slim throat is strong but, even with this betrayal, he can’t bring himself to actively harm her. He couldn’t do it then either, as much as he hates himself for it. His fangs bite into his tongue instead because he doesn’t actually know.

Voldemort doesn’t know if he could have shown affection to a small child even if that child was born of his own blood and he doesn’t know if he is capable of engaging in anything but a battlefield with that child now. He doesn’t know because he looks at Hydrus and sees his own history in repeat.

The brilliant boy punished for existing by muggles, finding a home in Hogwarts and only there, Dumbledore looming in the background already planning his future.

The difference was Hydrus actually found solace in others rather than retreating into himself only. Maybe that was because Voldemort had been shunned by children and adults alike, leaving him to view everyone as the enemy, while Hydrus had been harmed by those he thought of as family.

Alya must take his silence for an answer.

He pulls Hydrus’ trunk closer with magic and lets the boy free. “It’s time to go.” He says and grabs Alya’s wrist, careful to barely touch her.

Hydrus must be unwilling to leave her because he doesn’t even try to run. Voldemort ignores the way the boy flinches at his touch and apparates them all away.

.

Voldemort allocates two rooms in his private wing of Riddle Manor, both reasonably close together, and then has Hydrus write a letter telling Sirius that he was spending two weeks more with Alya and might not be able to floo. It’s sent off with a questionably acquisitioned international owl in order to throw them off until another plan can be made.

Hydrus isn’t allowed to keep his trunk, forced to empty out his belongings which are still sparse compared to the very large room. The Death Eater in charge of watching him unpack, thankfully not Pettigrew or Crouch, confiscates the map and his cloak and Hydrus gets the distinct urge to tear the mans throat out.

He focuses on angrily shoving his books onto the shelves of the antique bookshelf in the room because he has to put them somewhere. Just to be spiteful, he dumps all the clothes he’s picked up across his travels in a messy pile on the floor of the wardrobe.

It was probably childish, but Hydrus has been engaged in silent warfare with the Dursley’s his entire life so it’s nothing he doesn’t have experience with. He will take his victories where he can get them. The Death Eater doesn’t seem to enjoy his job either so, the moment he’s satisfied, he leaves Hydrus alone to his new prison cell.

Refusing to show any weakness, as soon as he’s left alone, Hydrus cuts into his palm with one of his own fangs and uses the blood to draw a silencing rune on the bed. His newfound interest in runes had a few uses.

Then he sits cross-legged on the bed with one of his books on the new types of runes being originated in Egypt and buries his head in it in an attempt to keep himself awake.

.

The wards alert him immediately to the attempted use of blood magic. It took months to build the wards so that they would trick anyone not permitted to use magic on the grounds into believing their spells worked.

Voldemort doesn’t go immediately, instead inspecting the confiscated items Yaxley took from Hydrus and even calling in Wormtail to explain the map.

What a shame Dumbledore had gotten to the marauders first and that Dorea Black was a terrifyingly stubborn woman. James Potter had been a remarkably talented pureblood, a descendent of the Peverells, and the map of Hogwarts is a testament to that. The wolf and rogue Black too, despite Severus’s bias, because they were deceiving Dumbledore with no reservations.

Maybe if the two knew the old goat’s true plans they would ally with him for Hydrus, seeing as they had decided to claim his heir as their own. He keeps his thoughts from straying to the fact the traitorous Black had blood adopted his heir and the streak of rage it ignites in him. It was good, he reminds himself, that Hydrus was heir to three powerful houses and someday would be lord to two of them because that gives Voldemort more strength too.

If he can ever drag the boy to the right side of the war, that is.

It is dark outside when he finally goes to Hydrus’s room, expecting the boy to still be awake, to question why he ever thought the use of blood magic would be missed in his headquarters. But no, Hydrus must have fallen asleep reading, probably attempting to force himself to remain awake.

Considering his spies had reported the boy was travelling for nearly two days straight, it’s not that much of a surprise he lost the battle.

The boy has one leg hanging off the bed, a book next to him, still fully clothed. One look at the frame of the bed tells Voldemort that he’d attempted a silencing ward. No one had told Hydrus that all of the bedrooms had silencing wards following Bellatrix and Rodolphus’s happy union in the first war.

Voldemort looks at his heir who whispers in broken parseltongue and trembles and wonders who was more responsible – the muggles still under trial, Dumbledore, or Voldemort himself.

He considers leaving, pretending he was never there to see it at all, but he still walks around and plucks up the book anyway. No one said Hydrus had an interest in runes. Voldemort takes the book back to the impressively filled bookshelf, considering all the books must have been purchased in the last month, and glances over the other titles.

Nearly all of them pertain to warding, runes, parseltongue and Elementals. There are two exceptions, both on animagi, and there’s a variety in magical bias to them all. Voldemort is reluctant to admit to himself that he had been the same in his youth, purchasing any book with information about his inherited magicks and favourite subjects.

He puts the book back and turns to leave, but he hears that broken parseltongue again and pauses. Then he grits his teeth, walks back to the bed, and resists the urge to peer into Hydrus’s mind. Instead, he lightly traces the boys scar, absent of the pain it caused in the graveyard, and uses their soul connection to soothe his dreams.

The effect isn’t quite immediate but soon enough Hydrus stops trembling and his breathing evens out and Voldemort can’t quite stand to be there any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not saying Voldemort might have put baby Hydrus and baby Draco in a room to see if they'd fight if Alya hadn't left...but Bellatrix definitely would have. Death Eaters would have been placing bets on baby wars. Voldemort wouldn't have disapproved because what's the point of having a child if he can't support violence early. 
> 
> Anyway you can't take it away from me that Hydrus is terrible at talking about his bullshit because it's always linked to his other bullshit and he needs to explain that too. Is this based on me trying to explain things about HP to a friend who never watched the movies or read the books and having to keep going back to explain something? Yes.


End file.
